Make Believe
by K-TDD
Summary: For a prompt on the angst meme. Unable to come out but desperate for a boyfriend, Karofsky blackmails Kurt into being his for one night a week.
1. Chapter 1

I'm writing this for a prompt on the angst meme, and I don't usually post stuff online but it turns out getting comments is really addictive, so I thought I'd throw it out here too! But this is NOT a fun story and PLEASE read the warnings before you read the actual story.

**Warnings**: This is a story about Karofsky blackmailing Kurt into being his boyfriend. It's not happy. Kurt isn't kicking and screaming, but he _doesn't like what's happening_. It scares him and makes him unhappy and uncomfortable. Karofsky isn't the spawn of Satan in this story, but he's doing something that's wrong and damaging. It gets kind of intense and nasty. There is sexual stuff going on that upsets Kurt, to say the least.

Disclaimer: _Glee_ is not mine, it's Fox's and Ryan Murphy's.

* * *

There are a lot of things Dave Karofsky doesn't like about himself. He doesn't like his grades or his need to fit in, he doesn't like that he's short with his parents or that he can't concentrate at practice. And he doesn't like himself around Kurt Hummel – what he thinks, what he feels, what he does.

There are also a lot of things Dave Karofsky does like about himself. He likes that he's smart when he applies himself and he likes that he's a good friend, he likes that he's a loving son (deep down, okay) and that he's a good hockey and football player. And that he's a really good boyfriend.

Which is where the plan comes in, because everything that's wrong with him is Kurt's fault. He could have it all back, have things the way they were, if he could have Kurt.

The idea comes to him in pieces, and once he has it, it seems so simple and brilliant he can't believe he never thought of it before.

This is one piece: He gets back a French exam with a C, which actually isn't the worst he's done lately, and sees the date at the top – Tuesday last week – and knows exactly what Kurt was wearing that day (a blue scarf, gray shirt, tight black pants, and he smelled like citrus which he usually doesn't). He thinks he could have done better on the exam if Kurt weren't _distracting_ him by being so pretty and impossible.

This is one piece: Azimio comes into the locker rooms chortling and holds up his hand for a high-five. "Hey man, guess who just scored a double-pointer? Knocked Asian chick right into the fag, they both went down," and Dave high fives him back. He wouldn't be in this position if he didn't knock Hummel around more than anyone, didn't encourage smacking the glee club down, but he can't stop thinking about the dude. He can't show the kind of interest he feels, so this is what he's got, and the others follow, and he's reduced to high-fiving his friend over doing stupid shit to the guy Dave wants to date.

This is one piece: "David," his father says when Dave walks into the living room and drops his backpack on the couch. "How was school?"

"Okay," Dave grunts, already heading for the kitchen.

"How did that French test go? Did you get it back today?"

"It was _fine,_ alright? I gotta head back out, told Azimio I'd meet him." He pulls out sandwich fixings.

"Oh, good. Well, have fun." Dad stands in the doorway. "What will you boys be doing?"

"Nothing. Hanging out."

"David…"

"God, Dad, give me some space, will you? I'm not doing drugs, okay, so just…" He leaves the sandwich. And he wouldn't be this angry if he hadn't done so bad in French, and he wouldn't be in this mood if he hadn't spent the drive over trying not to get a boner at the way his hand still smelled like Hummel's shampoo from the way he'd grabbed his hair and shoved him on the way out. He loves his dad, he does, it's just that Hummel's driving him insane. If he didn't have to try so hard to not think about him all the time…

And this is one piece: "The _hell_ was that?" Hudson yells at him halfway through practice, when Franklin, whom he's meant to be guarding, races right past him.

"Got distracted," he says, sneering.

"Yeah, that and you're a dumbass," Puckerman says. Evans – fucking Evans! – smirks. Even Chang is glaring at him. Wheels is probably making a face too.

"Whatever, you homos," he says. And they wouldn't hate him if he hadn't gotten expelled over Kurt, and he wouldn't have let Franklin by if he hadn't been staring at Hudson and then tried to distract himself by picturing Hummel and then realized that he was trying to take his mind off a dude _by picturing another dude._

Hummel is the root of all his problems. He knows that. Not having Hummel, specifically, is the root of all his problems.

It's his ex-girlfriend Lilah who puts says it, though, the thing that make the pieces click together. He sees on her Facebook profile that she's broken up with whatever douche she was going out with and calls her. She sobs for a half an hour and he makes sympathetic noises because that shit is boring as hell but what's important is that he make an effort so she'll feel better. At the end, just when they're saying goodbye, she sniffles and says, "You know, Dave, you were my best boyfriend."

"Yeah, tell that to the kids at my school," he says.

"Well," she says, "maybe you should date there. You always date girls from Westerville. They just never get to see your soft side at school – I've seen you around your friends, Dave, and you're kind of a dick with them. The people there would love you just as much as I do if they had a chance to see what a sweetie you are deep down."

And that's the solution, right there, to all of his problems. He needs to get back on his game, to not be so frustrated all the time, he needs Kurt to not hate him. Well. He's a good boyfriend. He'll just prove that to Kurt and everything else will fall in line. It'll be like some stupid romantic comedy only for real. They're already in the Tragic Misunderstanding part. Kurt doesn't understand what a great guy Dave is. Dave needs to date him in order to prove it. Dating someone before they like you is admittedly sort of out-of-order, but he figures he can work with this. It's not like making Hummel do things has been hard lately.

Because of this realization, these are things that happen within a month of each other:

One: _"Fuckin' fag," Dave hisses on his way past Hummel in the hall. He makes sure to do it when he's coming up from behind, just to see Kurt flinch so hard his shoulders jerk. He deserves it._

Two: _"Hey, babe," Dave whispers, tugging Kurt inside and closing the door behind him. "C'mere." He presses a kiss to Kurt's forehead with his eyes closed so that he misses the initial wince. No one deserves to see that._

* * *

The day before he puts his plan into action, Dave runs down in his head what he's done to Hummel lately, Hummel who's been looking strained and skinnier and paler every week. It's harder now that the guys from Homo Explosion try to mob around the little fuck, and now that Dave has a reversed expulsion on his record over just this issue, but he can be crafty when the need arises. He knows when Kurt has to be alone, and if he can't be there to say hi he can always have someone else do it. Shoves, slushies, threats, occasional dumpster tosses, and sometimes just dark looks – none of them are that big a deal. On their own. But they're wearing him down, anyone can see that. Maybe it won't even take that much.

Right after fourth period, there's no one to hang around Hummel like a body guard; all the glee kids have classes too far away, and who else would stick up for him? Dave's favorite thing to do about then is to just _stare_ and watch him come undone. He overreacts, but it's kind of not the end of the world to have someone that affected by Dave's mere presence. It's heady. He feels shitty afterward, but beforehand all he can think about is how bad he wants it and when it's happening it just feels good, like a buzz.

Today, though, he takes it up a notch. Kurt walks out, already tense, watching for him. He glares. Kurt squares his shoulders and heads toward his locker. And Dave follows. He walks behind Hummel for a ways, watching his back stiffen and his gait go from smooth to jerky with the knowledge that Dave is there, just out of sight.

Dave lets him get almost there before he puts a hand on his shoulder and shoves him against the wall, splaying a hand on his chest.

Hummel presses back against the wall, eyes darting. "What do you want," he says, and almost sounds normal, the nervous-normal that used to be how he talked to Dave anyway. It's the glassy eyes and trembling lips that give him away.

Dave steps closer. Hummel smells like vanilla. He wants to get close enough to smell his hair, see if it's because of shampoo. God, his lips.

"I haven't told anyone," Hummel whispers. "I won't. Just… leave me alone, Karofsky. I _will_ tell my dad you're still harassing me."

His eyes are beautiful. They're so pale, with those dark lashes. "You just shut up," Dave says. "About everything." He lets his hand drag a little when he walks away.

Yeah. This is gonna work.

* * *

Kurt folds in on himself, taking deep breaths and trying not to shake. Okay. Okay. He didn't really do anything. He never really does anything. It's fine. He's all talk.

And hands.

And oh God.

Kurt walks very slowly and deliberately toward Mr. Schue's office.

"Kurt," Mr. Schue says when he knocks on the doorframe. "What's up?" He glances at the clock and frowns. "Don't you have class?"

"Study hall."

Mr. Schue looks at his face more closely. "Whoa." He stands. "Are you – Kurt. We have to go to Figgins."

Kurt walks in and drops into one of the seats in front of Mr. Schue's desk. "Coach Sylvester couldn't get it done, and she actually likes me. I think. And she's scarier than Figgins." He takes a deep breath. "He didn't do anything. Not really."

Mr. Schue comes around to sit against his desk, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "You can stay here as long as you need to."

"Thank you."

"But we do have to keep reporting this. He's harassing you and eventually someone's going to pay attention; we want a record for when that happens."

Kurt shrugs the shoulder that's not being held, tugging a binder out of his bag. "What were you doing before I interrupted you?"

Mr. Schue sighs but takes the hint, walking back around to his chair. "Grading some essays. You'd be surprised at how many ways kids think of to spell irregular verbs without hitting on the right way."

"In this school? Please, if it's less than ninety-nine point eight percent of the time I'll redecorate your entire house for free. Actually, regardless of the percentage –"

"Thanks, but I wouldn't want to put you out." Mr. Schue actually looks mildly alarmed.

Kurt manages a smile. "I'd even let you pick the palette."

Mr. Schue hesitates, then catches on. Grinning back, he says, "Really? Because I was thinking orange and pink."

"That's entrapment. I remember that sweater perfectly well, and I stand by it. On me. _Not_ on your walls."

* * *

Finn leans toward the heater on the ride home and says, "So, dude. Karofsky got to you today?"

Kurt would roll his eyes if he weren't driving. As it is, he sighs heavily. "Mr. Schue is plainly not trustworthy."

"He's totally… that, that's why he told me. We can't help if you don't tell us, dude."

"You can't help if I do, Finn. Look, I… I'm grateful. I really am. You guys are all a huge help. But none of you have classes near me after fourth period. Karofsky does. There's nothing any of us can do about that."

"Dude. Give us a chance, we'll figure something out – even having one of the girls with you –"

"Oh, yes, because it's not like Karofsky or Azimio ever shoved me around when Tina was standing right next to me, or shoved her around for, apparently, being near me while wearing champagne bubbles."

"Kurt, come on, we can think of something."

Kurt scoffs, and then feels sick. He looks away and please don't let Finn have gotten that – "You shouldn't have to," he says.

* * *

They get home and Finn's looking kind of upset, which Kurt is afraid means he got the thinking crack, or what would have been a crack if he hadn't stopped himself at a nasty laugh – anyway Finn didn't offer to help anymore and he goes inside without saying anything.

Kurt drops his satchel on the couch and slides in between Carole and his dad.

"How was school, kiddo?" Burt pats his knee, eyes still on the game.

"Fine." He slumps over, head his dad's shoulder, taking Carole's hand. "I'm just worn out. Mr. Schuester thinks pink and orange are valid decorating choices."

"Pink and orange like that sweater you got?"

"That's different."

The phone rings; Finn's the first one to it, probably hoping for Rachel. "Hudson-Hummel residence, who's calling please," he says, as Kurt had drilled him to. And then he doesn't say anything for a few seconds before hanging up. Hard.

Kurt tenses. "Finn –"

"Nothing," he says.

"Oh, sweetie. Another one?" Carole beckons him over.

Burt swears and stands up to star sixty-nine it. It'll be a pay phone again.

"I think it was Azimio," Finn murmurs on his way past Kurt.

"Never mind them," Carole says, tight-lipped, putting an arm around each of the boys. "They're proving their own idiocy, is all."

They're proving they can get to us, Kurt thinks, moving closer to her. Whenever they want to.

"Karofsky put him up to it, you know," Finn says later when Kurt tries to get past his room to brush his teeth.

"Put him up to it? Suggested it at some point, maybe. They're both ridiculous, juvenile homophobes. Nobody needs to put them up to anything."

"I'm just saying. This is all down to Karofsky. You've got to let us help and not be a dick about it."

"..I know. I'm sorry. I just… Finn, you know how bad you feel when you can't protect me? Think about how it feels for me not to be able to protect myself. I don't want to need help in the first place."

"The President," Finn blurts.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The President of the U.S. has bodyguards. Having protection isn't about not being strong, it's about playing your strengths."

Kurt stares, slack-jawed. "Wow, Finn."

"Rachel helped me put it into words," he admits.

Kurt dives forward into a hug. "You're pretty amazing, Finn Hudson."

* * *

Finn is amazing. But he's seventeen and he's not all-powerful, and he's not actually part of a crack security team, and he's not a licensed psychologist. He can make Kurt feel safer, but not all the time. He can make Kurt feel better about life in general, but only for a few seconds running.

And not when he's being kidnapped.

Karofsky didn't just give him the evil eye this time. He'd grabbed the collar of his shirt, shoved him into an empty classroom, and closed the door behind them.

This fact is still catching up with him. He knows better than to expect help from random passers-by in McKinley by now, but surely someone saw that, any second now they'll open the door, this cannot be happening.

"People saw you," he says out loud, edging away from the other boy. "People saw – they know we're alone –"

"Chill, Hummel. I just want to talk to you."

"Normal people don't accost others at random in order to have civil conversations, so forgive me if I find that very difficult to believe."

"Screw you," Karofsky spits, and then stops. He takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders and… relaxes. His entire stance goes from threatening and predatory to open.

This flips Kurt out more.

Kurt keeps backing up, getting the teacher's desk between them.

"Hummel. You want the bullying to stop, right? Locker slams, regular phone calls, slushies, all that? I can do that. I mean, not one hundred percent, but I can make a big difference."

Kurt counts to ten in his head. Nothing that just happened makes sense, even when he's done. "Can we please discuss this somewhere else? This is not normal, Karofsky, you can't keep doing things like this."

"Answer the question."

"Yes. _Please_ can I go."

"I'll do it. I can call it off. I just want you to do something, too."

"Karofsky – okay. Just… stand farther away from me." To his surprise, Karofsky does back off a few steps. And he wasn't that close to begin with. But he's still, oh God, between Kurt and the door. "What did you want me to do."

Karofsky sits down at one of the student desks. "I can't come out. About, you know. But I want a – I want to date. I'll trade you: full weeks of no harassment, Sunday nights as my date."

"Sunday. Sunday nights – me. _Your_ date – what do you mean _date_?"

"You know." Karofsky flushes and looks like he's working to spit something out. "Boyfriend. Okay? I want you to be my boyfriend. One night a week."

"…I, no. I'm not – I've never – God, just… go to Columbus and hire a –"

"That's not what I meant, Hummel, and you know it."

No, actually he doesn't. "Then what, what do you, what do you mean?"

"Real dates. Dinner and movies. A real boyfriend. We can, you know, we can go as slow as you want. That's not what this is about." He stands back up. "I'm a good boyfriend. Facebook-stalk me, you'll see. It's just always with girls, and I want… something real."

"Someone you've blackmailed and intimidated into playing house once a week," Kurt says faintly. "I… please don't get angry. I _can't_. I literally cannot do that. Look at me, Karofsky, I'm shaking just being in a room alone with you."

"That's just because I'm kind of an ass around you. I'm nice as a boyfriend."

Kurt shakes his head mutely. "You… no. I can't. And it wouldn't be fair to either of us. I am not going to start my romantic life with a psychopathic bully, and I'm not going to – to help you start yours with someone you don't even like. Can I please go now." He realizes he's crying and wipes his cheeks.

"Sure." Karofsky shrugs and stands up. "I'm gonna keep asking, though, Hummel. Give you time to get used to the idea. You check Facebook." He walks out.

Kurt backs up until he hits a wall and slides down it, hugging his knees to his chest.

* * *

He does, out of morbid fascination and a gut-deep fear that Karofsky will know if he doesn't, check Karofsky's Facebook. He has three exes, all from Westerville, all moderately pretty girls. One of them graduated last year, one the year before that. He keeps in obvious contact with all of them, and they all seem to like him and have fond memories and not to have noticed that he keeps picking girls who'll only be around for a year.

Kurt erases his history before closing the window.

* * *

"Hey Hudson," Kurt hears Azimio holler from down the hallway. "Pass this on to your boyfriend for me!" There is riotous laughter from his and his cronies and they swan away. Finn's tall enough that, even from down here, Kurt can see the slushy dripping from his face.

Sam rushes over and gestures to a bathroom, putting a hand on Finn's shoulder. Finn shrugs it off on his way in. Sam sighs but follows him.

Kurt flees.

* * *

That night, after Finn was testy in class and glee, on the outs with Sam, and short with everyone at dinner; and after Rachel was so worried about both of them that she almost let Tina have a solo without a fight; and after Dad was silent at dinner and kept glaring at the phone; and after a huge hockey player whose name Kurt doesn't even know tries to lock him in a janitor's closet, Kurt messages Karofsky on Facebook.

_If, hypothetically – purely hypothetically – I were to agree to your insane and degrading plan, would you make them lay off Finn and the phone calls as well as getting them to leave me alone?_

He gets a response a half an hour later, and finally reads it three nerve-wracking hours after that.

_Yeah, no prob. I mean don't expect it all to just magically disappear, I'm one dude. But I can make it go down for sure._ There are no threats. He doesn't bring up the deal.

Kurt has horrible dreams that night. But he's been having those for months anyway.

* * *

He's started throwing up in the morning before school. The only reason he walks through those doors every morning is because he knows that if he lets himself off once, it won't stop. And he needs this education, needs these grades. He needs to get out. He has a year and a half left, and then he'll be gone. He can do a year and a half.

But he's tired of it. The throwing up and the fear, the headaches and bruises and irritation, the worry for his father and Finn and Carole, texting Blaine eighteen times a day just to make it through. He can do it, but if he doesn't _have_ to…

Karofsky only pushes him once that day, and uses the opportunity to lean in close and ask if he's changed his mind. Kurt's been thinking about it but when it comes down to it, he can only mutely shake his head and hope Karofsky leaves him alone. He gets slushied three times, which is kind of a record for one day. Finn knows about two of them and gets upset.

His dad and Carole seem happier today, though. No phone calls, he guesses. He could give them this more, almost all the time. How often were the calls before Karofsky zeroed in on him? Bi-monthly, if that, probably. He could have that back.

The next morning, he messages Karofsky again. _Let's talk,_ he says.

There's no response before he has to log off to get to school, and he starts to hope that it didn't go through, or Karofsky didn't get it and won't see it until he gets back and Kurt won't have to deal with it until tomorrow. Instead, Karofsky is there after fourth period like always. He heads into the empty math classroom with a jerk of his head at Kurt.

Kurt swallows hard and follows him in. Follows Karofsky. Into an empty room. Where they'll be alone. Oh shit, he thinks, over and over. Oh shit.

"Changed your mind?" Karofsky says. He sounds hopeful, and he looks non-threatening.

"No. Not… absolutely. I wanted to further discuss your expectations of what would happen if I _did_ change my mind."

Karofsky narrows his eyes. "I didn't come in here to get jerked around by you, Hummel."

"I didn't come in here to jerk you around. I want to know… what you want. Exactly. I'm not going to agree to this without knowing what it is I'm getting into."

"I told you. To date someone that I actually – look, it's not like you're gonna find anyone else in this school either, so don't pretend like you're so much better."

Kurt shakes his head. "This is precisely why we need to talk first, to avoid misunderstandings that could end in you rearranging my face. I'm not trying to taunt you into saying something you don't want to, or make you feel inferior. I am asking what 'dating' even means for you. I've never done it, so I have no base for expectations here, and I have no idea at all what yours is. I'm asking you to explain it to me. That's all."

Karofsky stares at him suspiciously. "Okay."

"Okay. Then…?"

"My parents have date night every Sunday. You come over and I'll have stuff, like I said, movies and dinner and stuff. I'm not cheap, I'd take you out, but someone would see us. I mean, if you want, we could go a few towns over or something – maybe we'll do that. Do homework, hang out. Couple stuff, man, whatever. If you wanna do other things, we can."

Kurt pulls a chair out from behind a desk and sits down. "Okay," he breathes. "Wow. Okay. What about… physical intimacy?"

"Yeah, that too."

"I'm asking for detail. You said before – you said we could go slowly."

Karofsky shrugs, expression doing funny things and settling on discomfort. "If you want. Like as slow as you'd take it with a boyfriend. And I know I kind of… I know you have to get used to me."

Kurt laughs and makes a physical effort not to let it turn into a sob. "We need to talk specifics, here. I don't want you to get pissed off and start shoving me into lockers again in a month because you thought slow meant waiting two weeks before we get to third base."

Karofsky frowns. "What, I'm supposed to give you deadlines?"

"Ballpark figures of what you think is acceptable in a relationship. When you'd start to get impatient."

"I don't get impatient about that stuff."

"Karofsky. You've never dated anyone you were actually compatible with, and you got _impatient_ enough to grab my face and kiss me _weeks_ ago. Don't you think this might be different?"

"Oh." Karofsky screws up his face. "I guess. Jesus, Hummel."

"I suggest that we outline our mutual expectations in writing, so that we have something to refer back to should disagreements arise."

"Does this mean you're saying yes?"

Kurt looks down. "If we can agree on everything. Yes."

Karofsky steps over. Kurt jerks slightly in his seat, but Karofsky just drops into the one next to him. "Cool. You got paper?"

Kurt pulls a pen and notebook out of his bag and sets up. "Sundays at your house. I assume we do both have the option to cancel a given Sunday – if your parents decide to stay home, for example, or my dad makes family plans."

"I guess." Karofsky frowns. "Not a lot, though, Hummel. No fast ones."

"You're going to have to trust me for this to work, Karofsky. Mutual trust, actually. I have to trust you not to kill me once you get me in an isolated house, you have to trust me not to cancel on you because there's a _Vampire Diaries_ marathon. We'll deal." He waits for Karofsky to nod before continuing. "Activities will include but not be limited to dinner and movies… When do your parents get home?"

"Eleven, maybe twelve."

Kurt shakes his head. "My curfew is ten o'clock on school nights. When do they leave?"

"Like three in the afternoon." When Kurt stares, Karofsky elaborates, "They go to late mass and then out to dinner and a show or something."

"Alright then. I'll come over at… seven?"

"Six," Karofsky counters. "It's a half an hour between our houses. You're gonna have to leave at nine-thirty."

"Six," Kurt agrees, and doesn't ask how he knows the distance between their houses. "I don't think I can have sex with you."

"What?"

"You physically frighten me, Karofsky. I don't think I could do it. I'd flip out. I'll do… I'll do other things, but not that. I wasn't planning on sex before college anyway."

"You're scared of me now," Karofsky objects. "You won't be once you've spent some time with me, Hummel. Not even you can be that much of a girl."

Kurt glares. "No sex."

"…Unless you stop being scared," Karofsky insists.

"Fine." _Not happening._

"I want to get up to blow jobs and shit, though. Like, you know..." He makes an obscene gesture.

"Dry humping?" Kurt says, wincing.

"Yeah."

"Acceptable." He makes a loose list of sexual stages – kissing, making out, cuddling, frotting, hand jobs, blow jobs, dry-humping – and says, "Give me two or three weeks between each one, alright?" That gives him two to four months before he's blowing Dave Karofsky. Oh God.

"Sure. Put cuddling before making out, though, Hummel. You got a weird sense of sexual progression."

"My mistake." It's more intimate, though.

"You've got to be nice, too."

"Excuse me? _I_ have to be nice? I'm not the one who pushes you around all day!"

"Yeah, well, you can't insult me. I want a boyfriend, not a bitch who happens to have to make out with me. I want you to, you know, be like you would with a boyfriend. Make it real."

Kurt bites his lip and nods. He notes it down. _Acting practice_, he tells himself. _You're going to have a long and healthy career and you will win an Oscar with this kind of practice._ "Speaking of being nice," he says, "the same goes for you. No slurs, no calling me a girl, and no hitting. The next time you touch me with intent to cause pain, this is off, Karofsky. I am serious. Not even in school to impress your friends."

"Yeah," Karofsky says sullenly. "I wouldn't, okay? God."

"Okay. Just one more thing, then: I keep veto power. If I ask you to stop something, you do. Naturally I'll return the favor, but of the two of us…" he gestures between them. He's almost as tall as Karofsky now, but other than that… only one of them is in danger of being overpowered, and it's not Karofsky. "Don't assume I'm being a bitch for no reason. Just stop and we'll talk it out."

Karofsky nods, face set and unhappy. Kurt sighs and adds this to the list. "Alright. Unless you can think of anything else…"

"No."

"Then I'll see you at six on Sunday, provided you keep your word about the bullying – and the protection extending to Finn."

Karofsky nods again, jerkily, and stands up. Kurt looks down and busies himself putting the paper away, tidying his bag for whatever of study hall he has left, and pretends he doesn't notice that Karofsky is still standing there. Finally he's forced to stand himself, and says, "Yes?"

Karofsky puts a hand out, and Kurt flinches automatically. Karofsky stops, glaring, oddly awkward, and Kurt forces an apologetic smile. He reaches over and takes Karofsky's hand, holding tightly enough to hide some of the shaking. Everything in his experience has taught him that taking this boy's hand is going to lead to pain. And he's right, just not in the way he would have been a few months ago.

Karofsky smiles back, sweet and boyish, and leans in slowly. His lips barely touch Kurt's. "See you Sunday, babe," he says. He squeezes Kurt's hand, then lets go and leaves the room.

Kurt realizes that was his second kiss. His first time holding hands with a boy who wants him. He realizes all his kisses, maybe for the rest of high school, are going to Karofsky, along with so many of his firsts. He pictures Blaine and it's like a fist to his gut. He realizes then, in a rush, that he's done the wrong thing, not just something stupid but necessary, but _really wrong_. Because he can't tell Blaine about this. He's going to have to lie to Blaine. He's shut himself out with no support system again and if what he's done is so bad that he can't even tell _Blaine_, then… it's wrong. It was a mistake.

And he's already too terrified to take it back.

* * *

Dave hadn't expected this – he wants to take it back. On some level, he'd thought it wouldn't work. It doesn't sound sane, and Kurt's always been very… sane. Well, except for his clothes. He likes his plan, he thinks it'll work, but he hadn't thought Kurt would.

But no, he must have believed it would work, or he wouldn't have humiliated himself like that. Be my boyfriend. What kind of pansy-ass crap is that. He wouldn't have done that without some kind of… Well, of course Kurt was going to say yes. Where else was he going to get a boyfriend? That Ladyboy from the private school? Yes. No way. Pathetic. So this is cool, it's great. Only… only.

He's never had to do this before. He's panicking a little. He's planned dates, he's good at dates, but for… people. Girlfriends. This is _Kurt_. This has to be really fucking great. …But he doesn't really know what Kurt likes.

He messages Kurt on Facebook as soon as he gets home to ask what kind of foods he can eat; he's pretty damn sure the dude diets. Kurt mentioned that whacky-ass _Vampire Diaries_ show, so he goes in his sister's room (she's in college, but half her stuff is always home) and ransacks her DVD collection. She has all that CW-type crap. He finds season one on DVD under a pile of DVDs with two dudes on them over and over. He considers himself a genius until he realizes he wants to light candles but that it would be completely gay. Or maybe Kurt would be into it, maybe that's the kind of thing Kurt just _expects_ on a date. Maybe if he shows and there are no candles he'll think Dave is a moron. He could finally have Kurt Hummel sitting on his couch, right next to him, and he'd be there thinking about what a crappy date Dave had set up.

Maybe this was a mistake.

* * *

Four days seems like a long time until it's over, Kurt discovers. He's convinced himself he has forever until Sunday, but then it is Sunday. Then he convinces himself he has forever until it's five-thirty, right up until it's five-twenty and he has yet to tell his dad that he's spending the evening elsewhere.

"Dad?" He hovers behind the couch, already pulling his coat on. "I'm going out with Blaine, okay? I'll be back by ten."

"Oh, yeah?" Burt turns and sees the coat. "You leaving now?"

"I… yeah, I just forgot."

His dad grunts. "What're you boys doing tonight?"

"Dinner and a movie." He mimes a wince. "In Westerville. I'll have my phone on."

"Text me after dinner. Don't like it, don't pull this last-minute stuff on a school night."

"Okay. Don't eat any salt!" He pats his dad's shoulder and dashes off before Finn or Carole catch wind of this, because if he doesn't actually lie to their faces then… something.

He's five minutes early, and checks three times to be sure he has the right address. It's a big house, a nice one. And it is a little bit isolated; it has a big yard and a long driveway. That's not really what has him checking; he just doesn't want to pull in.

He's thirty seconds late when he knocks on the door. Karofsky opens it almost instantly, and ushers him in hurriedly, either because he doesn't want any neighbors who can see through the bushes to catch him hanging with the local gay kid or because he wants to get right to Kurt's gruesome death. The fact that he locks the door behind Kurt doesn't do a lot for Kurt's confidence.

"Hey," Karofsky says, though, when this is done, grinning like everything's normal. "So I ended up ordering sushi, because the stuff you can eat is kind of weird, and I didn't want to screw up making anything. Hope that's okay."

"You cook?"

"Yeah, when I can read the list of ingredients. Your shit'll take some getting used to." He frowns faintly, reaching for Kurt's coat. "This stays between us."

"I think I can manage not to let it slip." He hands it over, and clenches his fingers together to hide the shaking. "Maybe we could cook together for one of these. Dates. It might be easier to get used to 'my shit' with some guidance." There's an actual coat rack in the Karofsky hallway, upon which Kurt's coat is now hanging. This is distracting.

"Sure," Karofsky says, brightening. He looks so… hopeful, relieved, that Kurt actually starts to calm down a little. Someone that into having a normal date in the future is not going to drug and kill him on this one. Hopefully. "Come on in the living room, I have it set up there."

"Oh, delightful." Kurt follows him, wondering vaguely where he ordered sushi from. There aren't really any standout restaurants for raw fish in town.

"I thought we could have a _Vampire Diaries_ marathon," Karofsky says, and Kurt realizes, deep down, that they have a problem.

* * *

But for right then, things are fine. The "date" is nice, as far as fake dates with terrifying homophobic bullies go, at least in Kurt's opinion. There's sealed, bottled water and he risks it with the sushi but does not end up passing out. Karofsky doesn't mind Kurt texting his dad. He puts an arm along the back of the couch, and Kurt is uncomfortably aware of its proximity to his neck, but he doesn't actually touch him. Until it's time for him to go.

They haven't spoken much all evening, and when they have it's generally been about the show, which Karofsky plainly does not appreciate as an artistic vehicle but is making an effort to understand. The terror and awkwardness have worn off a little, though, by the time Kurt's letting Karofsky help him into his coat, and thinking that if he can make it through one he can make it through a few more. Then Karofsky's hand lingers on his lapel, and it's so huge, and Kurt can't…

Karofsky starts to lean in, and Kurt can feel that finger on his chest, those hands on his face, those lips on his, the helplessness of it. He jerks back.

Karofsky backs off, but frowns, hurt and not quite glaring yet but it's close.

"Sorry," Kurt says breathlessly. "Okay. Sorry." He forces a smile and takes both Karofsky's hands in his, swinging them a little before tilting his face up. Karofsky hesitates, but leans in again.

It's not a peck this time. It's not a violent assault that happens to take place on his mouth, like in the locker room, either, and Karofsky doesn't try to get his hands away, which Kurt latches onto as an assurance that everything is fine. It goes on for a while and Kurt doesn't really know how to kiss all that well, Brittany and Karofsky had always done all the work, but he does try to kiss back. He tries not to back off, either, but he still ends up pressed against the wall because he just can't push as hard. It's wet and tastes odd, like… tongue. And sushi.

Kurt had always thought he'd like kissing boys.

When Karofsky's done, Kurt holds his hands tighter to keep him there and drops his forehead against the other boy's shoulder for a second, blinking fast. Improvise. He can do this. He sniffs once and the tears are subdued. He straightens and lets go. Karofsky backs off.

"Well," Kurt says brightly. "Thank you for the lovely evening."

Karofsky smiles. "Sure. See you Sunday."

* * *

Dave isn't sure if he's more pleased with himself or pissed at Kurt.

He did it, finally. He just got a date with Kurt Hummel. And it went well, and it was a _lovely evening_ and everything is going according to plan. Except _what_ was _that_.

He's never had a problem giving girlfriends their space. And since he's been a little bit paranoid maybe about them picking up on how he's not into boobs, he's gotten good at reading signals, like when they actually want to kiss you and will think you're a total fag if you don't and when they just sort of feel like they should offer and when they're going to bite your head off for trying even though you have to prove your stuff in front of your boys.

But with Kurt, he doesn't know. He wasn't paying attention. He could only concentrate on two things: getting as much out of that kiss as possible, and not taking his hands out of Kurt's and _grabbing_ the dude because that was _good_ and he wanted so much more and he wanted it now. It wasn't even like it was a spectacular kiss, Kurt was kind of a sucky kisser, but just having his mouth on Kurt's – that was – that was good. And then that little drop onto his shoulder when all Karofsky wanted was to be able to step away before he ruined their next date and it was so fucking _cute_ and it makes him such a pansy that he thinks that. But he's already worried about dinner for next time.

* * *

Kurt thought, when Karofsky said it, that he was experiencing a psychotic break, because yeah, Kurt would see him next Sunday – but also every other day of the week until then, including Monday.

It had turned out that Karofsky wasn't wrong in his phrasing, really. When he wasn't seeking Kurt out to torment him, they barely saw each other outside of French class. If Kurt's body weren't hardwired to flinch away from letterman's jackets in the halls, he would never have noticed the boy.

And it's working. The whole thing is working.

On Thursday, Finn pulls Kurt aside after glee and says seriously, "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"Wh-what? No? Did you have some specific secret of mine in mind, something of which you need urgently to be made aware?"

"It's just, I haven't been slushied more than like twice this week. And Sam hasn't gotten it at all. We were afraid they were just… switching back to paying more attention to you."

"Oh," Kurt says hollowly, and then smiles. "Well, no. Rest assured, I've had a remarkably easy time of it. I think Donahue's the only one who's done anything all week. Maybe Killroy. I – I think they're finally moving on. I mean, it's early to get too hopeful, but maybe they finally realized that you, Sam, Mike, Artie and Puck all together – it's not worth it, right? Maybe you beat them back."

Finn brightens. "Yeah, maybe – uh, unless they're planning something worse for all of us."

"We'll be ready for them," Kurt says.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the comments, especially to the kind anons I can't thank in a message!

* * *

Kurt has never in his life been so aware of the passage of time, his week abruptly revolving around Sundays with an intensity he imagines deeply religious sinners must feel – that much anticipation and dread – so he knows, when Blaine finally stops texting and calls, that it's been exactly eight days since Kurt answered him with more than a monosyllabic text.

He answers it.

"Kurt," Blaine says, relief coloring his tone. "How's it going?"

"Oh," Kurt says, "fine. Better, actually. School's been getting easier. The Neanderthal population is losing interest."

"Really," says Blaine, who has no reason to think he's lying except that Blaine knows what it's like, knows they don't _lose interest._ "That's great," he adds, with just a touch of hesitance.

"It's been making packing for school in the morning a lot easier, anyway," Kurt agrees blithely.

"What?"

"Oh, slushies. Charming local custom. Never mind. Would you like to do something Saturday?"

"Sure! That'd be great. I'm trying desperately to be interesting and culturally aware, but I'm running out of events to invite you to. Any ideas?"

"I could actually really use a normal day at the mall right now. And you don't get much more culturally aware than that, if you play it right."

"We can make fun of the jewelry in Claire's!"

"And be mutually baffled by Victoria's Secret."

"You're on." Kurt can hear the smile in his voice now. "How does one o'clock sound?"

"Fantastic. I'll meet you there. And I would chat more, but I really have to write this English paper before dinner…"

"Oh, okay, no problem." The hesitance is back. "I'll… I'll talk to you tomorrow, Kurt?"

"Sure thing."

Kurt stares at his phone. He should text Mercedes, too, tell her not to worry. Without saying so in as many words, because that would just… make her worry.

He can do this. All of this. He's the same person, he has the same life. Just not the Sunday evenings of it.

* * *

Dave is finding that he was right. His life was missing one thing, and with Kurt Hummel as his boyfriend, everything else is sliding back into place.

He got an A on an English essay he managed to actually concentrate on. He had a civil conversation with his father. He feels good, powerful, from how easy it was to sway everyone off the glee freaks as favorite targets. Azimio's asked him twice if he's smoking anything, because he has seriously chilled the fuck out and Azimio wants in on that action.

This makes Dave laugh when he's alone. Azimio really doesn't want in on the action Dave's getting. And that, that right there, says it all – he can _laugh_ about this all of a sudden. Kurt's good for him. And Kurt's been doing better with him, too; he hardly ever gets bullied now. Not any more than any other loser. This is completely win-win. Sure they've got a ways to go – Dave's still not totally back on top of his game, that's for damn sure; and Kurt still doesn't entirely trust him, and is still getting slushied a bit much for Dave's taste despite his redirection of the hockey team toward Jacob Jew-fro (who has made this very easy by retaliating on the internet, which just makes people madder, the stupid fuck; this is exactly what got Kurt where he was – thinking he could fight back). But they're definitely making progress, and after one date. This is going to work. This is going to work perfectly.

* * *

The trip to the mall has somehow become a monstrous affair involving Wes and David, who want to find Christmas presents for their girlfriends; Mercedes, who wants to shop for herself and maybe find her mother some jewelry, and also not be left out every time Kurt turns around, which he can understand; and somehow, God help him, Rachel, who needs to be pried away from plots to get Finn back. On Thursday Kurt found a page she'd dropped from her binder outlining several schemes and instantly recruited Mercedes for a quick intervention. Mercedes' contribution had mostly been, "No, no, and _hell_ no." Kurt had tried to be more understanding but indicate, by way of hints at that unfortunate _Grease_ cat suit, that he knew whereof he spoke and these kinds of convoluted ideas did not work on Finn in the long run.

"I am shocked and appalled," Rachel says in between sips of her milkshake – Kurt hates her for being able to drink them, but he hates her for a lot of things and it's fine, lately he likes her enough to weigh things out – "that you've been spending so much time with the lead singer of a competing glee club and didn't see fit to tell us, or at least filter information to us."

"I'm too canny for that," Blaine explains. He has a sensible frozen yogurt, of which Kurt approves. "He totally tried at first, but I caught him every time. He had to stop or I would have turned my wiles on him and weaseled out your setlists for the next two years."

Kurt snorts. "Even if any of that were true – which it's not, Rachel, I am not in this for glee – please, Blaine. We don't plan that far ahead. We're notorious for it. Let that add to the sting when we beat you." He stops. "Wait, where did Wes and Dave go?"

"They stopped while you were trash-talking us," Blaine chuckles. "I think they saw something vaguely girlfriend-feasible."

"They went in _Hot Topic_," Mercedes says. "I got no hope for those boys now."

"And about-face," Kurt says, grabbing her arm. "We can't let this happen."

"Agreed." Blaine takes Rachel's elbow. "Sarah likes black, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't like tacky. Wes used to have taste, you know, until the uniforms made him lazy. It's tragic how quickly a young brain degrades without exercise."

"You sound like my dad talking about phone numbers and the tragic loss of their memorization on the altar of the cell phone," Kurt teases, securing Mercedes' arm in his, and yes, he can do this. This is going to work.

* * *

Sunday, his dad is a little leery of his spending the evening with the same boy he just spent the day with yesterday.

"It's just that we didn't expect so many people," Kurt explains. "Mercedes and Rachel had emergencies, and then Wes and David… I'd really like some time on my own with Blaine."

Burt raises an eyebrow and _stares_.

"Dad. Oh my God. I will _tell you_ when there's anything to tell, okay? I just need someone to talk to who's gone through the same stuff. And I love Mercedes and Rachel and Wes and David but they're not gay and they don't… I just want to talk to him."

"I trust you, kiddo," Burt says reluctantly. "And I know you need someone who gets it. But I remember how smart stupid things seem when you're seventeen, too."

"What's Kurt doing that's stupid?" Finn walks in with his hand buried in a bag of chips, already grinning hopefully.

"Nothing," Kurt says. "You two just want me to be. I'll see you by ten, Dad. Don't eat all of those at once, Finn, look at the serving size."

* * *

Kurt hates Karofsky right now, more than usual, because he's _not_ Kurt's boyfriend, this doesn't count, but… for what it does count as… Ever since Kurt came out to his dad, he's been so proud of the fact that he won't have to hide it when he has a boyfriend. He'd told himself his dad would be the first to know – well, second; Mercedes would have to come first – and while it would probably make him grunt and clear his throat a lot, Kurt would know his dad loved and accepted him, and he'd be a good, honest son, and… goddamnit, this is all Karofsky's fault.

On the other hand… he hadn't been wrong about what he said to his dad, about needing someone who understood to talk to. He has Blaine. Karofsky has… Kurt. Sort of. And Kurt's not going to get caught in some sad-sack Beauty and the Beast "I can _save_ him" cycle with Dave freaking Karofsky, but – but he is already in a perfect situation to offer support. And maybe if Karofsky levels out he'll realize that threatening a kid he's bullied for two-odd years into spending a few hours at his house every week isn't a relationship, and move on. Before Kurt has to… do things.

Which boils down to being a better fake boyfriend in order to get out of being one at all. This logic is probably flawed.

Kurt would slam his car door, were he a lesser man, but he manages not to take his frustrations out on his baby. He doesn't knock this time, doesn't get a chance to; Karofsky already has the door open by the time he gets to the stoop. He grins and grabs Kurt's hand, pulling him in and locking the door behind him again. "Hey," he says, kissing Kurt's forehead briefly. His lips are warm and moist, and he's huge and solid and way too close and then he's not, already tugging Kurt behind him toward the back of the house. "So you look great," he says casually. "Like your shirt."

"Th-thank you," Kurt manages to choke out on auto-pilot because did _Dave Karofsky_ just compliment his outfit. "I, um, I like yours too."

Karofsky looks back at him, skeptical. "Really?"

"Well, I didn't say I'd marry it." Kurt smiles in hopeful apology. "It's giving me Target vibes. It is a very nice color for you, though. And I do like the overall preppier look you have going on when you're not in the jacket. You know, some Ralph Lauren – oh my God, this is your _kitchen_?"

Karofsky shrugs, letting his hand drop. "My mom used to want to open a restaurant."

"No wonder you can cook."

"I guess." He gestures to part of the white island dominating the center of the large room. "I liked the cooking-together idea. I got a bunch of the stuff you can eat, I figured we could improvise, or get a recipe off the net."

Kurt walks over and he's pretty sure his footsteps almost echo. "Nice. You went…" he trails off looking at the saffron, because he knows how hard this is to find around here and Karofsky found it for him. His stomach turns the same way it did at the _Vampire Diaries_ incident and he clamps down on the thought. "You went all out," he finishes, smiling.

Karofsky looks smug. "So what do you feel like?"

Kurt surveys the ingredients. "Actually, you have everything for Caesar salad and Hollandaise," he says. "And asparagus to put it on… Now that I think about it, Caesar and Hollandaise in the same meal isn't quite the done thing, but we can always make an exception."

"Sure," says Karofsky, who probably doesn't care about whether foods go together. "Do you want something to put over your…" he gestures at Kurt's clothes, which are of course designer label and no, maybe not something he wants to blend things in without some cover.

"Is this a ploy to get me in an apron?"

"Uh, no, because the only apron we have is my mom's and she's like taller than Hudson. No offense, but you'd look like a toddler in it." He walks over to the counter and picks up a lump of cloth. "I thought you could wear this over your stuff, for now. I need your cell phone number so I can warn you about this kind of thing, then you won't have to…" he trails off and holds the makeshift apron out to Kurt, who takes it gingerly and lets it unfold. It's nothing weird, just a pale blue shirt, obviously Karofsky's.

There is nothing unsavory about this, Kurt tells himself. He's suggesting that you put more clothes on, not take any off. You could just say no.

He tells himself he's picking his battles. "Thank you," he says, and tugs the shirt over his head. It's too big, of course, and he picks at it for a minute, trying to make it lie right, before shoving his sleeves up past his elbows. "I'm not sure this is a huge improvement in the not-looking-like-a-toddler scheme of things," he says. Clothes are important to him, this is way too personal for him, but it's not fair to expect Karofsky to magically know that. This is not a big deal and if it was he should have just said something, what would have been wrong with saying no thank you…

Karofsky grins. "It's cute," he says, and puts a hand on Kurt's waist, bunching the fabric. "It messed up your hair, though." He raises the other hand and strokes Kurt's hair, presumably smoothing it back into place.

"Don't bother," Kurt says, shooting for normalcy. "It'll take me at least a quarter of an hour with a comb and some organic hairspray."

"Sure." Karofsky drops both hands to Kurt's hips. "It looks fine messed up too, you know. You always look…" He gives up and kisses Kurt instead.

Kurt realizes only now that he was expecting another goodbye kiss, and that this really throws off his I-can-handle-this mentality. He manages not to pull away this time, but he thinks he might have bitten Karofsky's lip a little by accident, and his hands hover uncertain and awkward in the air. He wants to grab Karofsky's again because that made it feel better last time, a little, like he still had some control over this, and also because Karofsky has really big hands and their being on his hips pretty much means they're on his ass as well by default. But that seems like it would be weird and maybe piss Karofsky off if he figured out what he was doing. He puts them on Karofsky's cheeks instead, because that seems like a good halfway point between "okay for right now" and "but let's make dinner."

This is not, apparently, how Karofsky interprets it. He makes a sound into the kiss and his hands tighten on Kurt, dragging him forward until their hips meet.

Kurt starts exerting some pressure, trying to hint him off, and starts, thoughtlessly, to say something. The realization that he can't do either roils in his stomach, and he jerks his head to the side.

"What's wrong?" Karofsky sounds honestly puzzled. "You okay, Kurt?"

"Yes. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm glad you like my hair even as a wreck, but this is not getting dinner made." He pats Karofsky's shoulders.

"Right." Karofsky grins sheepishly and steps away, hands lingering. "Where do we start?"

"Well, if you'd like to grate two tablespoons of Parmesan, I can chop the parsley."

Once he's at the cutting board, the island between them, and he's the one with the knife in his hand, Kurt steels himself and asks, "So how long have you known?"

Karofsky looks startled. "Known what?"

"That you're gay."

Karofsky frowns and shrugs. "I don't know. I guess a few years. I'm done with the cheese."

"You could mince this, then," Kurt says, tossing him a clove of garlic. "Only a few years? Not that there's anything wrong with that, I'm just trying to imagine. I've pretty much known since I was five."

"I just didn't use to think about it a lot." He's holding a knife now too.

"Think about…"

"Sex. And stuff. You know. I just… tried not to think about it."

"Well, I wasn't exactly sex-crazed at five. You didn't have, I don't know, a platonic eleven-year-old crush on Zac Efron?" He pauses. "I… I think the garlic's minced."

"Right." Karofsky drops the knife.

"Record time."

"I don't think celebrity crushes are the best way to tell, anyway. I mean, you like Lady Gaga and Beyonce way more than is natural, but you're gay."

"It is perfectly natural to have an appreciation for the talents of other performance artists."

"Okay, sure." Karofsky smiles. "To be honest, I kind of regret I wasn't on the football team sophomore year. I would've liked to have seen you do that dance, even if it was a little crazy. I mean, when you taught the guys, not in the football gear. Everyone kind of looked the same on the field."

"I'd imagine Finn and I stood out. Bookends and all." This is not going to work. He can't do this. He can't be with Karofsky when an offhand, not-even-entirely-sexual reference to a dance physically repulses him.

"Huh?"

"I mean… he's tall. And I was very short." You're not with him, Hummel. Pull it together. You're spending three hours a week with him, that's not even a part-time job. You can do this.

Karofsky starts chopping the basil without being asked. "Oh. Yeah, I mean, which one was which, I guess. I just wanted… to be able to see you." He looks back up. "I've liked you for a while, Kurt."

His face is open and honest and afraid, and Kurt actually wishes for a second that this confession didn't make his spine fuse with terror (_who_ the _fuck_ expresses their affection with physical violence, minor sexual assault, and blackmail) because right that second, he remembers saying "I Honestly Love You" to Finn and Finn's obvious complete inability to handle it. "I," he says. "I didn't know." He almost wants to be able to say it back but he can't, not even for the charade, so he smiles and puts his hand out instead.

Karofsky takes it and holds on tight. "Come here?" he says.

"Um. Okay." He can't, though, because the island is between them and he can't get around it while Karofsky is holding his hand. "You… you have to let go."

"Right." Karofsky does.

Kurt walks around the island and breathes slowly and is not going to say anything yet, but they are still very clearly on the only-kissing part of the contract, so if he tries anything it will suck but Kurt is going to have to ruin the mood and it will be Karofsky's own damn fault. But he's not going to say anything right now because (what if he gets mad) what if he _isn't_ going to try anything and it's completely pointless…

Karofsky meets him halfway. He opens his mouth and almost says something a few times. Then he huffs to himself and puts his arms around Kurt silently. It's just a hug. There's not really anything sexual about it. One of his arms is around Kurt's waist, fingers curled in the oversized shirt; the other stretches across his back, hand on Kurt's hair and tugging his head down to Karofsky's shoulder. Which is fine. He can smell Karofsky's aftershave, sort of minty, and the collar of his shirt itches against Kurt's cheek. Karofsky's breath is hot and wet on his neck. Which is also fine. Kurt uncertainly raises his arms and loops them around Karofsky's waist and _everything is fine_, even though Karofsky is holding on very tightly.

"I guess we should make dinner," Karofsky says eventually. His lips brush Kurt's neck in what is not exactly a kiss.

Kurt pats his back and steps away. "Yes, let's."

* * *

Dave is, now, equal parts pleased with himself and frustrated as hell. He feels like tonight went well, in terms of a date. They got good food out of it and they had fun, watched some TV, chatted, and once he made Kurt laugh, which was a good feeling, and Kurt had stopped talking about Dave's orientation after that first time.

As far as good feelings go, though, _shit_ but kissing him and holding him is better. He knows he has to wait, because he's been maybe a lot of a jerk to Kurt and it'll take some time, and anyway, he needs to get some perspective – he wouldn't expect a girl to put anything more than kisses out on the second date, and him _wanting_ more didn't mean he was _entitled_ to it right away. Hell, Lilah and Tara would have slapped him if he'd tried as much kissing and holding as he did tonight on their second dates; Kurt had been generous.

It's just, Kurt gets it. Dave doesn't want to talk about what it is he gets, but he does. And Dave wasn't lying, he's been into Kurt for a while. He's just so glad to have Kurt in his house, within reach, to be able to kiss him, and he'd tried to say so but that would have sounded, well, gay. Still, he'd fessed up to the crush, so that was a step in the right direction. And he'd gotten Kurt's number and he hadn't _meant_ anything by the shirt but… he'd gotten that, too. Which is where the frustration comes in. Because yeah, Kurt was generous, but that doesn't stop Dave wanting. And him in Dave's shirt with his hair mussed, like every post-sex scene in a movie ever, was just cruel. But – in a good way. He'll be using that image for a while to get off to, but soon he won't have to, soon their relationship will have progressed. Here. At home. On Sunday nights, and no one ever had to know and he is still normal and has a normal life and isn't – isn't. Anything. And he has Kurt Hummel at his beck and call. There is really pretty much no way for this to go wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt looks at the sad, disgusting little contract they'd drawn up and psyches himself up for cuddling this Sunday. He'd said two to three weeks between each one; well, it had been two weeks. And he would be a hell of a lot happier going for the full three, but he figures if he keeps it to two for this one, it's completely fair of him to go three on the next one and Karofsky won't be able to complain about it, so he'll be able to stall on making out for a good while longer. Well… a few more weeks. Not that long. Long enough, though.

"Hey, Kurt?"

Kurt shoves the list under some old homework in the bottom drawer of his desk and manages to look mostly composed by the time Finn actually pokes his head in. "Yes?"

"I wanted to know if you feel like doing something."

Kurt frowns. "With you?"

"Uh, yeah?"

_Oh._ He's just broken up with his girlfriend, his ex-best friend is the one who cheated with her, his new friend is the one he's competing for popularity with… yeah, that'd do it. "Desperately lonely, huh?" Kurt smiles to take some of the sting out.

"No! I mean, I want to hang out with my new brother, is that a crime?"

Kurt keeps looking.

"And… I might be a little lonely." Finn shrugs and smiles in a way he has to know is completely charming and is probably using as an offensive weapon. "That's what family's for, right, to put up with you when no one else will?"

"Well, with an invitation like that, how could I say no?"

They decide to walk to the nearest Dairy Queen, which is about a mile away; Finn can get a sad excuse for a treat and Kurt can get a sad excuse for exercise.

Kurt makes sure the house is well behind them before he says, "Finn?"

"Uh-huh?"

"When you had sex with Santana, was it… awful?"

"…Uh. Why, are you gonna try girls again?"

"No, thank you. I just wondered. It would be different with R- with someone you liked, I guess."

"Oh. Well, yeah, dude. I mean, Santana's great and all, but the sex wasn't anything special. I just… mostly wish I could take it back. But it wasn't _awful_ or anything on its own. I just feel awful _about_ it. I mean, probably like you and Brittany, right?"

"Not… really. I was asking about Santana because she's intimidating. Brittany couldn't pressure someone if she tried. But if you – if you changed your mind or something…"

Finn makes a thinking face for a few worrying seconds, then says, "Oh. No, dude, I didn't – I mean, no lie, Santana's kinda scary, but she didn't – I didn't ever feel like – I just wanted to stop being a virgin, it wasn't her fault."

"Oh. Well, that's good. I mean, not… really, but better than it could have been."

"Kurt," Finn says.

"Yes?"

"Are you… okay? Like is Blaine…"

"What? _No!_ God, Finn, no! We're not even together, I keep telling everyone. And even if we were, he'd never push me. He's a kind, polite person. Anyway, he wouldn't have to push me, because I would be all over that."

"Oh, okay, good," Finn says quickly. "Yeah, never mind, then."

"Don't mention this conversation to anyone and I'll buy your ice cream."

"Sure, dude. I mean, you don't have to. I'm pretty sure sage advice on sex is one of my brotherly duties now." He perks up. "Hey, I've totally had more sex than you. I actually know more about this than you do! You have to get a boyfriend so I can have useful knowledge."

"Really. That sounds great, Finn; I'll come to you for everything I could possibly need to know about gay sex. My dad will be so relieved."

"How different can it be? I'm sure I've totally got it covered."

"Yes, between you and the internet, what could possibly go wrong?" Kurt shakes his head. "I really didn't mean this to go in an actual-sex direction. Just… sex-related things. I just thought… even if you hadn't had sex with Santana, just done other stuff, you did them with her even though you don't like her that way."

"Yeah, but… like, I don't like her that way, but I do… but she's hot. I did want to do them with her. I don't want to marry her, but she does turn me on. Or did. I guess… are you asking whether it's worth it to fool around with someone who turns you on but that you don't like all that much? Because I'm gonna go with no, mostly. It'd bite you in the ass."

Kurt waits for that to turn into a crude joke, and blesses Finn's innocent little heart when it doesn't. "No," he sighs, and decides there's no way to ask whether, hypothetically, Finn thinks it's worth it to fool around with someone whom you don't like, who actively frightens you, and who does not in fact turn you on at all. "I mean, who would I even do that with? I'm the only out guy at school, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Well, if you do get the chance. You should… not. I think." Finn considers. "Or like if it's with a girl again, you probably shouldn't."

"I promise not to make out with any more girls."

"Cool." Finn nods to himself and appears to consider his good deed for the day done; Kurt is pretty sure he can depend on Finn's natural dog-like attention span, coupled with his Rachel Drama, to banish the entire incident from his mind.

* * *

"David, are you on a diet you haven't told us about?"

"What? Dad, I play hockey and football, I don't have the energy to pussyfoot around how many calories a hamburg has."

Paul smiles, but the wrinkle between his brows goes nowhere. "No, I know, and I didn't mean to suggest that you should diet. You're a healthy growing boy. No, it's just that… your mother's been finding groceries and takeout receipts that aren't ours, and aren't the kind of thing you usually eat."

"Oh. All the fish and healthy crap. Healthy stuff."

"Yes, that."

Half of Dave's stomach clenches with terror, because this is it, this is a clue, this… someone could find out that he's been macking on Hummel and then his life is over just like that – and the other half… doesn't. Part of him is fine with this. He does love his parents, and he does want them to know that he's happy now, and why. A little bit of why, anyway.

He shoves his algebra homework away on the desk. "Actually," he says, "I kind of have to tell you something."

Paul comes in and sits on Dave's bed, facing him and clearly bracing himself for the worst. A few weeks ago that would have pissed Dave off, like why does everyone always expect the worst from him, what's he ever done that's so bad they have to act like he's got a bomb strapped to his chest all the time. Now, though, he takes a deep breath and considers that he just got himself expelled so maybe he should give his dad the benefit of a doubt.

"You know how there's a rule against me having people over without telling you first? Kinda been breaking it. The food's for," and Dave does apologize to Kurt mentally, "her. I mean, I eat it too, but just because she wants to."

Paul nods to himself. "Have you been having sex?"

"No! No, they're just dates. On Sundays, when you guys are out."

"Alright, David, I'm confused. Why have you been hiding this girl? You've never hidden – have you been hiding girlfriends?"

"No, you know them all. Except for now."

"Okay. So… why are you hiding her?"

"It's just… private. Our relationship."

"Is she older?"

"No, my age. It's nothing bad, Dad, I promise, I just really want this to be something that's… mine. Only mine. I feel better about everything lately, and it's because of this. I know I've been real messed up but you gotta trust me on this one."

"David… I don't know. Are you doing anything illegal?"

"No. I swear."

"Then what is it that you think your mother and I wouldn't support about this?"

"That's not the point, Dad. I know you guys'd be fine with everything if I introduced you. It's just, like I said, it's private. Not wrong, just private."

"Is there any chance you'll tell us more sometime soon?"

"I don't know. I'll… I don't think so."

"Do we know this girl?"

Dave thinks this isn't really funny, but he can't keep himself from smiling. "Actually, yeah. Dad, I promise, it's fine. We go to the same school. She gets good grades, she's nice, she eats healthy stuff, we just hang out. It's just important to me right now and I don't want to have to talk about it."

Paul sighs heavily. "Sure. I… can't say this makes me very happy to hear, but sure. Keep having her over if she's making you happy – and as long as you keep thinking about telling us more. Very seriously thinking."

Dave nods. "If you want."

"I'd like that, yes," Paul says dryly. "I'm going to go break this to your mother, unless there's anything else you'd like to share."

"No, that covers it."

* * *

"Hey, babe," Karofsky says, tugging Kurt inside. "C'mere." He kisses Kurt's forehead. "So how's your weekend been?"

"Uneventful. Some shopping, some house-cleaning, some homework. How about you?"

"We had a match yesterday, actually."

"Oh." Kurt gropes mentally for a second, assures himself that Finn was _not_ at a game yesterday which eliminates football, and guesses, "And by match, you mean hockey?"

"Yeah." Karofsky takes his hand and tugs him toward the living room. "My shoulder's killing me." He rolls the right shoulder with a wince.

"I should see the other guy, though, huh?" His sympathy is squarely with the other guy at the moment; he's been on the receiving end of Karofsky's lighter "knock the gay kid around" slams and doesn't even want to think about the full-speed, pads-on treatment. Still, he puts a hand gingerly on the shoulder in question. "I'm sorry. Should I ask if you guys won, or is that a faux pas? I'm afraid I haven't really ever followed McKinley's hockey team."

"We suck," Karofsky informs him lightly. "Not as bad as the football team used to, and we win more than we lose, but we're not really all that great. This time we did win though, yeah."

"Well, congratulations."

"It was pretty sweet," Karofsky admits, grinning now. "I got the winning goal."

"That's great!" Kurt realizes it is pretty definitely time for a celebratory kiss, and goes for one. Kisses are, as it turns out, surprisingly awkward to initiate, but Karofsky takes charge quickly and Kurt falls back on what is becoming his standby position of "try to kiss back hard enough that you don't get backed up, and do _something_ with your tongue." He doesn't imagine this is making a terribly good kisser out of him, but until Karofsky actually lodges a complaint along with constructive criticism he doesn't know what else to do.

When Karofsky lets him go again, he's smiling. "I'm just going to claim all the winning goals from now on, if I get that out of it," he says. Kurt is comparatively sure this is a joke, and laughs nervously. Karofsky grins, so that was probably correct. "Anyway, I got us a movie," he adds. "And I made dinner already – sit down, I'll get it."

"Oh, okay." Kurt drops onto the couch, which is leather and makes him a little nervous. It's also cold until you've been sitting on it for awhile. The movie is on the coffee table, in one of the irritating boxes their local video store uses – basically a hard plastic sleeve for the DVD, with absolutely no information pertaining to the film itself. The case is clear, so he can see it's called _The Last House on the Left_ and is, with the color scheme and all, probably horror, but there's nothing else to go on.

"You got us a horror flick?" he asks dubiously when Karofsky gets back with the plates.

"Uh, yeah?" He sets them down and puts the movie in. "It's date night, that's pretty standard." He takes in Kurt's face. "Oh, wow, dude, you've seriously never dated even a little."

"I thought sappy romantic comedies were standard," Kurt confesses. "And _The Notebook_."

"Well, yeah, those too. I didn't actually know if you liked those, though, or if that was too… uh. If you liked those."

"Too girly," Kurt finishes for him. "As compared to everything else about me."

"For example. So I went with the other standard."

"I'm either touched or insulted, I'm still deciding."

"Maybe a little of both," Karofsky suggests, tugging a quilt off a nearby armchair and monopolizing the cushion to Kurt's right. He flicks the blanket over them and fishes for the remote.

"I'll settle for that." Kurt reaches for his plate and bottle. Dinner proves to be spanakopita and delicious, and he tells Karofsky so. The food and discussion thereof distracts them both for the first fifteen minutes, during which time the screen is pretty much dedicated solely to showing off as much of the main character's naked skin as possible anyway once the first violent scene is over, and since the main character is a girl Kurt's not too broken up over missing it.

The girl and her friend, resident Designated First Victim, end up in a hotel room with some teenage boy; there is discussion of a makeover and Kurt is briefly engaged. He's mostly waiting for something nominally frightening to happen, as he supposes that will be as good an excuse as any to start cuddling. His palms are sweaty and it is not because of the promise of more onscreen violence. He's starting to worry he'll miss the violence, he's so busy watching Karofsky out of the corner of his eye and trying to figure out how awkward it will be to cover the rest of the distance between them.

Then the violence starts. Kurt doesn't miss it. He does fail to move any closer to Karofsky.

It's not as if it's a particularly good movie, or as if the acting is really anything special, or the writing, or anything. He thinks probably a year ago he would just have rolled his eyes and taken the disc out because it's not his thing. But that was before that kiss in the locker room and the death threat and the cake topper, before he started to feel this _all the time_. And the movie is capturing… this. The constant, nails-on-a-chalkboard fear that nothing you do or say can stop someone who's always there, always stronger, always meaner, and who wants to hurt you. The equally constant nerve-twanging don't-think-about-it fear that the violence won't just be physical.

He never does move any closer to Karofsky, and he doesn't notice it happen but apparently Karofsky moves closer to him, because his right side is warm and pressed up against something solid and there's a huge arm around him and the remote's in his lap now, he's not sure when that happened.

"Kurt? I'm serious, we can just –"

Or, okay, not just the fear, because now it's pretty explicitly happening, very explicit even, there's really not much more explicit they could get without it being porn, he may have seen porn that was _less_ explicit although also a lot less violent –

Karofsky reaches over and puts his right hand over Kurt's eyes, his left hand groping in Kurt's lap for a second.

The movie stops. Karofsky moves away, turns on the lamp. "Kurt," he says. "I'm sorry. Why didn't you turn it off?"

"What?"

"I gave you the remote fifteen minutes ago, when you started looking queasy. Are you okay?"

"I need –" Kurt shoves the quilt off and stands, then rushes for the bathroom.

* * *

Ten minutes later, he stumbles back out, wiping his mouth and feeling disgusting. Karofsky's leaning against the wall in the hallway right outside, chewing his lip furiously. "I'm sorry," he says again, taking Kurt's elbow. "Come with me, I'll get you – I know you hate being messed up."

Kurt hasn't been upstairs in the Karofsky household yet. The entire upper floor has a thick white carpet, which Kurt faults for the eerie silence which prevails even once they're up there. Karofsky's room is huge and smells faintly of sweat, and the walls are plastered with aggressive heteronormativity. The floor is so clean and recently-vacuumed, matches the rest of the house so well, that Kurt realizes with a start they must have a maid service; no professional woman is going to work nine to five and then cleaning her seventeen-year-old's room this thoroughly. The bed, which is huge, is very neatly made.

Karofsky also has his own bathroom. He gives Kurt a glass of tap water, which Kurt drinks although it's probably even less sanitary than the last thing he had in his mouth; he doesn't keep his own toothbrush in the bathroom, never mind random drinking glasses. He also produces mouthwash and a toothbrush still in the box. Kurt silently busies himself getting the nasty taste out of his mouth; Karofsky keeps a hand on his back the whole time. It feels like the fingers span shoulder to shoulder, like he could pick Kurt up with that one hand.

"I'm really sorry," Karofsky says. "I didn't know what it was about, it was just supposed to be… a stupid date movie. I thought it looked like they put more effort into it than the one next to it on the shelf and I just grabbed it. Are you okay?"

Kurt manages, finally, to meet Karofsky's eyes in the mirror. He looks hurt and bewildered and concerned. He does not look like a deviant sociopath who chose that movie as a threat, or a reminder, or a perverse promise.

And if that's an act, well, Kurt had better make like he believes it.

"I'm fine," he says. "Sorry, it just…"

"It was gross," Karofsky agrees hurriedly. "I don't blame you. I just wanted a horror movie for traditional cuddle-time, you know, you were supposed to jump when the demons popped out and grab my hand for security. That kind of thing. It wasn't supposed to be actually upsetting. Just… fun. Fake scary. And I ended up grabbing you because your expression was freaking me out, which is the opposite of what I was going for in at least two ways."

Kurt spits into the sink. "I didn't actually _say_ we could progress tonight."

"Uh, yeah, sorry. Next week there's not going to be much opportunity. It's – a surprise."

Kurt plants his hands on the edge of the sink for balance, and thanks the cleaning service when he doesn't feel a fine grit under his palms the way he does when Finn finishes in the bathroom.

"Are you pissed?" Karofsky looks… God, he looks like Finn. Finn makes that same expression, helpless and hopeful.

"Possibly."

"I really am sorry."

Kurt splashes water on his face. The movement does nothing to dislodge Karofsky's hand. "Nice room."

"Yeah, I was gonna clean up before I showed it to you."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I need you to not be standing right behind me just now, Karofsky."

"Okay," Karofsky says, stepping sideways and taking his hand back. "Would you grab me an icy-hot patch while you're there, though? They're in the cabinet. My shoulder's killing me."

Kurt goes on tiptoe and reaches up to swing the mirror open. There's an entire medical cabinet's worth of sports-related emergency supplies, including a box of icy-hot patches. He fishes one out. "Got it."

"Uh." Karofsky's gaze snaps back to eye-level. "Thanks."

"Really? Right now? I am _distraught_, Karofsky."

"Sorry."

"You are not. You're smiling."

"I kind of missed you yelling at me more than I expected to. But it's Dave. I mean, I know you're pissed, and I get it, but… my name's Dave."

"Right. Fine. _Dave_. Do you need help with your ridiculous patch?"

"Oh. Sure, I guess. I can't really reach it on my own." He starts to pull his shirt up and stops. "Are you okay now? Aside from being mad?"

"Couldn't be better."

Karofsky hauls his shirt up around his neck and turns around.

"Oh, ouch," Kurt comments; the bruise is really pretty spectacular.

"You totally should see the other guy, though," Karofsky says, with enough of the high school hallways sneer in his voice to kill Kurt's momentary sympathy.

"I'm sure the blood vessels in your back are very impressed with your prowess on the battlefield," he says, carefully setting the patch over the worst of the bruising and smoothing it down. "And you're set."

"Thanks."

"No problem, I do it for Finn whenever Carole's late from work." He tosses the wrapping into the bin. "Let's go downstairs?"

* * *

Dave does his level best to smile in the face of the fact that Hudson is living with Kurt. Given the way Kurt flinches, it may not be his friendliest smile ever. "Sure," he says, tucking Kurt under his arm. "Let's go downstairs."

"What were you thinking of doing for the rest our time?"

"Well, if you feel better, you could eat some more. You just lost it all. And my mom owns _The Notebook_; we could do that other traditional date night movie thing."

"I am intensely not hungry, but an overdone, escapist fluff piece masquerading as drama sounds just about right."

"Great." He squeezes Kurt tighter. "We can still cuddle, right?"

Kurt looks up at him, expression odd and tense. He nods.

And it is great. The movie sucks balls, but Dave already knows that and he doesn't waste any time watching it. Kurt's face, aside from being stunningly pretty, is expressive, and pale enough that the light from the screen plays over it nicely. Dave spends the entire movie watching Kurt and never once gets bored. It probably helps that they're sitting pressed together, with one of Kurt's legs draped over Dave's and one hand on Dave's knee, the other just for Dave to hold; he keeps his eyes up, but God does Hummel have fine legs and he's not ashamed to say he spends a lot of time appreciating the feel of them. And his hands are smooth and soft and hell, Dave probably spends a good hour just playing with the one he's holding, stroking the fingers and palm, molding it into peace signs and bird-whipping. Kurt looks at him weird at first, but shakes his head and lets it go. He's kind of got nails, for a dude – they're not long or anything, but they're long enough, and shaped enough, that he must spend time on them. They'll feel fantastic on Dave's back.

They don't finish the movie; nine-thirty rolls around first. Or, actually, nine-fifteen, which is when Kurt gets antsy and has to find all his stuff. This is fine by Dave; it gives him plenty of time to maneuver Kurt around to almost-leaving but then kissing-pressed-up-against-the-door-instead. He's found if he puts his hands on Hummel's waist with his fingers wide, he can feel everything – muscles shifting under the dreamy-soft skin on his abdomen and back, sharp juts of his hips, delicious swell of his ass.

"I'm sorry about the movie," he says again. "I didn't ever want to freak you out. I'll read the description next time."

"Deal," Kurt says, and kisses him once before he opens the door, nose brushing Dave's cheek along with his lips.

"_Shit_," Dave adds once the door's shut behind him. Looking for a little sympathy, he texts Azimio with his woes. _fuck man, i just screwed a date up. got last house on the left, she puked dinner up_

Azimio texts back seconds later, _the fuck did u watch that w/ her 4, she got a weak stomach like that?_

_well jesus dude excuse me, didn't know it was a rapefest_

_yes u did asswipe killroy told us last week in the locker room, sick fuck practically creamed just talkin about it_

_well i forgot, w/ev_

_doghouse, bro. ain't no helpin u now_

_we'll see. i got something planned_

* * *

"Dad?"

"Hey, kiddo," Burt whispers, gesturing to Carole, who's fallen asleep on the couch next to him. "How'd it go?"

"Alright. Half of two bad movies." He wrinkles his nose and slides over the back of the couch to get next to his dad on the other side. Burt wraps an arm around him and Kurt burrows in, folding his legs up under himself. Burt smells faintly of grease and the organic, environmentally-friendly soap Kurt insists he use. "Where's Finn?"

"Here." Finn is, unsurprisingly, eating something neon orange.

Kurt holds a hand out, and feels a little guilty because he knows Finn thinks it's sort of weird how close everyone else is fine being but won't turn him down in front of his dad. But it gets him what he wants, which is to be safe and warm and have his dad's arm around him and Finn's hand in his, even if Finn's hand is greasy and covered in fake-cheese dust.

Finn sinks down next to them, trying to not let his bag crinkle. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Kurt says, because nothing is, now. He has an irrational fear that they'll smell Karofsky on him, but other than that, he's fine and safe and has them right here and nothing is going to happen. "I love you guys."

Burt and Finn exchange a look over his head.

"We love you too," says Finn. "Want some?" He brandishes the bag.

"Ugh, no, that's disgusting. I'm not feeling _that_ maudlin."

Burt says, "You know I don't like to mess with your life, buddy, but I'm gonna have to meet this Blaine."

_Oh, shit._


	4. Chapter 4

I want to thank you guys for commenting - it means a whole lot to me! And it reminds me to update, haha. Really, it makes this all worthwhile.

* * *

Kurt is good at stalling. He has a unique gift for looking immensely put upon and as though the request made will not only push him over the edge but is entirely unreasonable to begin with. He's a quick thinker and can come up with excuses at the drop of a hat. And he can generally stall long enough to either make a problem go away or to come up with a remedy for the problem.

Neither one of these is going to work this time. His dad is perfectly willing to be stalled at about meeting Blaine, because he doesn't really think, yet, that anything is seriously wrong, and because he does think that Kurt is at the very least crushing on Blaine (he's wrong there only in that Kurt is pretty sure he's in True Love with Blaine; crushes are so juvenile) and he's not really crazy to have to face up to the fact that Kurt wants to sleep with a specific guy. A nebulous "my son, who is a guy, wants to sleep with men, in general, at some point in the future" is one thing; he's plainly having a lot more trouble with "my son, who is a guy, wants to sleep with _this_ boy, now or soon after now."

Yes, then, stalling is fine. But he's not going to let it go, either, which is also sort of unusual for Burt. Kurt can usually just… stall until his dad gets the hint and gives up. He's been making heavy pronouncements, though, and does not seem likely to give up on this.

And Kurt can't have Blaine over, can't, because his dad wants to bring up Sunday nights, and Blaine will look politely confused and say, "Sunday nights? Sir, I haven't been seeing Kurt on Sunday nights" (he is, Kurt thinks dreamily, the sort of boy who would say "sir" to Kurt's father, both because he's well-bred and in his earnest desire to make a good impression).

And that will be a problem.

He's trying to figure out how to ask Blaine to lie for him, but no matter how many lies he comes up with, none of them are good enough that Blaine won't think he's a freak. It would have to be a lie so spectacular that it cancels out the fact that Kurt is asking a boy he barely knows to lie to his own father for him. It's pathetic and a little twisted. Blaine probably wouldn't do it, and even if he would (and even if he'd do it well enough that Burt bought it), he'd think differently of Kurt after.

Ergo stalling.

Then it gets worse. They come home from school on Tuesday and there's a strange car in the driveway. He and Finn share a look, but Finn's easily the biggest guy in town and Kurt can always kick people; they get out. As soon as they do, Paul Karofsky steps onto the driveway.

Kurt's stomach turns over.

"Kurt Hummel," Mr. Karofsky says, a little questioningly, as if he doesn't remember him from the principal's office, as if there's any other boy in town who wears McQueen sweaters. "I'm sorry, I thought one of your parents would be home." He smiles, tight and painful. "Congratulations, by the way, both of you. I'm sure your mother and father must be very happy."

"Uh, yeah," Finn says when Kurt fails to take point as he generally does on wedding-related issues. "They're really psyched."

"I don't think we've been introduced," Mr. Karofsky says, stepping forward and putting a hand out to Finn. "I'm Paul Karofsky."

"Hi," says Finn, and then catches up. "Oh, like – what are you doing here?"

"I'd like to speak to Kurt. About my son."

"Well," Kurt says. "Here I am." He wants to sidle closer to Finn, but is afraid Finn would be weirded out. And he sort of hopes Finn will leave, because if this is about the arrangement, oh god, how humiliating could this possibly be, Finn will think he's disgusting.

"Won't either of your parents be home soon?"

"Not until five-fifteen," Kurt says.

Mr. Karofsky sighs. "Alright. Kurt, I want to… I love my son, and he's a good kid at heart. But he's bigger than you. And he's been angry. He says – when he was expelled, my wife and I had a long talk with him, and he said that you and he had a longstanding rivalry, just boys being boys, that maybe he'd threatened you but he hadn't meant it…"

Kurt is a little dizzy with relief, and a little disappointed, and a little pissed off. "You're asking me if maybe I let a little harmless roughhousing offend my delicate sensibilities and tried to ruin your kid's future over it?"

"I just – I want to believe him. If there's any way… if there was a misunderstanding… I want to believe my son, but the more I think about it…"

Finn shakes his head. "Your son's got issues, Mr. Karofsky."

Kurt glances up at Finn, then looks back at Mr. Karofsky. "Is – is he going to hear about this conversation?"

Mr. Karofsky's face crumples a little. "No," he says heavily. "No, I guess he'd better not."

"Then, no. We never had any kind of rivalry. He bullied lots of kids, and he systematically terrorized me. Everything I told Principal Sylvester was true. Mr. Karofsky, I think your son needs help."

Mr. Karofsky's shoulders slump. "Thank you for your time," he says, and turns to stump back to his car. With one hand on the door, he stops and looks back. "Kurt," he says. "Has he been any better? The last few weeks, he's seemed happier at home."

Kurt crosses his arms. _Shit_, he thinks. _Shit._ "He's left me alone at school for a few weeks now," he says stiffly. _But only because he's getting worse_, he thinks, _only because he's progressed to blackmail and coercion instead of getting a real boyfriend._

Mr. Karofsky searches his face for a few seconds. He seems, thankfully, to find it devoid of comfort. "If you ever feel up to it," he says, and walks back over. He hands Kurt a business card.

Kurt nods. Mr. Karofsky is a lawyer, he finds. And he has several phone numbers at which he can be reached. He tucks the card into his pocket. "Sure." He waves goodbye and pushes Finn in front of him toward the stairs. "It was nice to see you, but I'm freezing." He glances back one last time before he goes inside; Mr. Karofsky is climbing into his car. He looks old.

* * *

Kurt devotes a great deal of time to this decision, but ultimately does not invite Mercedes to go bowling with him and Blaine on Thursday evening. He's going to owe her a spectacular manicure to make up for not calling tonight, but he doesn't want to let Blaine slip irrevocably into the friendship-only category through too many group dates. One more where he decides to drag half of glee club along and Blaine is going to get the wrong impression about the nature of his interest – not that he's uninterested in friendship. He's not uninterested in more, either, is all.

He meets Blaine at the alley at five-thirty. Well, that's the plan; he's ten minutes early because he wants a chance to check his hair in the restroom before Blaine gets there.

Blaine, charmingly, is exactly on time, and apologizes for being late when he sees that Kurt's already there.

"No, it's not you, it's me," Kurt says. "I have a pathological need to check the space out beforehand. I need to know where the light complements my complexion."

"Really?" Blaine grins. He's even more very-cute than normal when he grins. "How can you be sure without a second opinion?"

"Well, if you want to tour the entire establishment with me and offer second opinions the whole way…"

"Nah, I'd run out of ways to say 'perfect' and just look like an idiot." Blaine puts his hands on Kurt's shoulders. "Better idea: close your eyes, I'll spin you around, and then we'll go to whichever lane you point at. I guarantee you'll look amazing."

Kurt gets a half-second to be embarrassed and flounder for an answer, something witty and charming that says "take me now" but in a cool, not-desperate way. Then Blaine smiles and turns to go pay for their shoes – damn, should Kurt offer to do that? Would that make Blaine think he doesn't want it to be a date, or does letting Blaine pay just make him sort of pathetic? What if Blaine thinks he's trying to mooch off him? He doesn't even know that Blaine's all that wealthy; plainly he's more than comfortable, but maybe he's on an allowance, maybe he can't afford to pay for shoes and still get a new tie later in the week. Kurt could be _ruining his wardrobe._

He could also be making a big deal out of nothing, he reminds himself. Deep breaths. Do not become Rachel Berry. Pay for the meal.

By the time they sit down to eat, he does not feel bad about having missed the opportunity to pay for the shoes, because clearly, Blaine intentionally rented himself better ones. "It's the only way you could have beaten me that badly," he says.

Blaine looks puzzled. "That's funny, because I'm pretty sure that the only way I could have failed to beat you would be if I were an uncharitable person and started laughing at your gutter-ball habit. Then I wouldn't have been able to stop, and you would have won because I'd be on the floor gasping for air."

"You are entirely too hung up on a _few_ gutter balls. I was a bowling expert, last I checked. I'm sure you cheated."

"When was the last time you checked?"

"Well, my dad brought me here when I was six, and I trounced him."

Blaine raises his eyebrows.

"Hummel men do not _let_ people win, Blaine! Wipe that smirk off your face. I beat him fair and square."

"Then you're right, there are magic shoes here. I think we've proved that I don't have them, though, since they fit a six-year-old."

"You're a small person, and I had big feet for a six-year-old."

"All right, you win. I have magic shoes. I also used my telekinetic powers to ruin a few of your shots."

"I knew it."

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for making an impression."

"You're going to have a hard time topping telekinesis. Maybe the power of flight?"

"I think I might have that one, somewhere in my back pocket." Blaine's smile goes very soft. "Kurt, my skills are many and varied, but they don't include telepathy. Can I ask what's bothering you?"

"What? I don't – nothing. Everything is absolutely perfect right now."

"I'm very glad to hear that, and I can even kind of believe it – these shoes are just leaking magic all over – but I'm having trouble believing that things are absolutely perfect in general, because you've got this… face. That you make. When you're worrying about something. You're making it a lot lately, whenever you're not… actively making some other expression."

"Oh, God. Blaine, I don't… I don't want every time we talk to be about me sobbing on your shoulder. It's not that I don't trust you with this stuff, I do, I just want to be able to have a normal night out, too."

"I get that," Blaine says. "I really do. Just – you are telling someone, right?"

"Oh, it's just – look, I'll make a deal with you. I'll tell you what the latest drama is, and then we won't discuss it until tomorrow? I like being here with you, I don't need Karofsky here too, even in name."

His brow furrows. "It's a deal. It is Karofsky, then?"

"Not that one. His father came over a few days ago. Finn was there, too, so I didn't need to tell anyone; trust me, my entire family knows."

"Was his dad angry?"

"No. He wanted to compare notes, my story versus Karofsky's. Well, Karofsky Junior's, you know what I mean. I think he believes me, for the record. There. That's that. Tell me what you're doing this weekend."

Blaine forces a smile. "Skiing, actually. With my mom. She's pretty into it, and I go when I can. You know, she used to take me when I was a kid and I would pretend I was flying. I gave that up, of course. I definitely don't pretend that anymore."

"I used to dream I could fly," Kurt says. "It was very convincing."

"Really?" Blaine is abruptly eager. "Lots of people say that, but I've never had those dreams. I was very into flight as a kid, though, like I had all these model airplanes and toy pterodactyls. I was absolutely sure, ages four through fourteen, that I was going to be an aviator. I would sit in couch cushions with these huge glasses on and pretend I was piloting a plane."

"Oh my God, that's adorable." Kurt has visions of next Halloween, and getting Blaine in one of those hat-and-goggle combinations from old movies. And a brown coat, tight pants, and some really impressive boots.

"Okay, I confessed my embarrassing childhood fantasy. What was yours?"

"Be gentle, I haven't given any of mine up." Kurt smiles brightly to compensate for the blush. "My _plan_ is to become a world-famous fashion designer. However, if I had a genie and one wish, no hold barred… I'll just say I do sometimes pretend in the shower to be starring in my fourth international tour in a gender-flipped version of _Wicked_. Which isn't all that far off, in terms of viability, from singing along to _Evita_ and pretending to be Madonna, which is what I was doing at seven."

Blaine leans back in his chair, chuckling. "If anyone can do it, it's definitely you."

"You can come along and play Galinda," Kurt says, flustered. "You'd make a very interesting blond."

"Ugh, can you imagine? It's totally wrong for my coloring. You, though, could absolutely pull off green skin."

"One of the many qualities I share with Ms Menzel." Kurt raises his glass. "I'll drink to that."

"Kurt," Blaine says. "Kurt."

"Yes, that is my name."

"Yes. Okay. Kurt. I need to tell you something."

"Something bad?"

"Maybe? No. I mean, it's not a big deal. I think it might actually make you happy? What I want to tell you is that I think you really, really need a support system in your life right now, and I want – more than anything else – to be supportive. I also don't want you ever to feel like you have to do things just to make me happy. You do get that, don't you, that you don't have to worry about me?"

"Sure," Kurt says breathlessly.

"Good. Because I'll be here for you, however you want me, no matter what. Which is what you need. I just want to… tell you. If, you know, in a few years, once we're out of high school and your life isn't so harsh, once we're on an even keel – if you were to be at all interested in me still then, romantically, I'm just letting you know I'd be interested too."

"Oh," Kurt says, delirious with happiness, and then processes the _after high school_ bit and thinks, Oh hell no. "We need to go now. I need to get you alone."

"Oh, um, okay?"

It takes two minutes too long to get outside and next to Blaine's car. It takes Kurt another thirty seconds too long to work up the courage to kiss Blaine. It takes Blaine two heart-stopping seconds to start kissing back.

Kurt decides he wasn't wrong; he _does_ like kissing boys, under the right circumstances. This is about four times as awkward as kissing Karofsky, just because Blaine is clearly going to let him run the show and he doesn't really know what he's doing. But it… feels _good_. It's not just the mildly disturbing knowledge that someone else's tongue is in his mouth and the grade-school "oh God that can't be sanitary" reaction. It's Blaine wanting to be close to him. There are _tingles_.

When Kurt ends the kiss – which he does get to do, the control is sort of thrilling – he says, "I'd really rather not wait until after high school. I've been in love with you since you took me out to lunch that first time."

Blaine looks, for the first time since Kurt's met him, like he really has no idea what to do. "And I am on board with that," he says, "I'd be so thrilled to date you. I just can't help thinking that a boyfriend is the last thing you need right now."

Kurt is very good at getting his own way, given any leverage at all. The problem is, this is due in no small part to his focus. He has several arguments lined up; he's been working on them since Blaine confessed his attraction and they are already fairly logical and compelling. He was ready to start spinning the first one off when Blaine used the word "boyfriend."

Blaine sees the flicker of doubt. "Look," he says, "why don't you think about it. Whenever you're sure, one way or the other, let me know. I just don't want this to hurt our friendship at all."

"I am sure," Kurt says quickly. "I just – I was thinking –"

"And that's good. You should think about it first. Which is what I'm saying. Sleep on it, whatever. I'll call you tomorrow and we'll discuss the random Mr. Karofsky visit. You can answer me whenever you want. And you can always change your mind."

"I know what I want. Did you miss the loving you since lunch part?"

"I definitely didn't, I'm committing it to memory and I'll probably write it on my mirror in lipstick or something, but what you want and what you decide makes sense for you at the end of the day can be different. And I, personally, _don't_ want to be a hasty decision. Kurt, I promise, I'm not going anywhere. Take your time, if only to ease my conscience. Let me know where I stand on Monday."

"Fine. Call me tomorrow, we'll discuss the vagaries of Paul Karofsky, and then on Monday I'll ask you to be my boyfriend. I'll need a pick-me-up on Monday anyway. Finally procuring the boyfriend of my dreams will definitely brighten the day."

"All right."

"Good, then." He thinks Blaine may not entirely believe him, but he can work with that.

* * *

Except for the small problem with all of this. He takes deep, calming breaths on the way to Karofsky's house.

Kurt Hummel is not a cheater. He doesn't cheat on people. Well, he's never had a chance. But even given one, he wouldn't. He's watched his soap operas, thank you. He knows how it goes and it's never seemed worth it to him. If you absolutely can't control yourself with someone who is not your partner, it's time for a break and some long talks, not random cheating and then lying about it.

But he _likes_ Blaine. He needs Blaine. He really, absolutely needs Blaine. And why should he have to deprive himself of one normal, healthy high school experience just because Dave Karofsky is a closet case with really good acting skills who outweighs him by a hundred pounds? Karofsky made a deal, and the deal was for Sunday nights, with the understanding that Kurt is doing this to save his family, clothes, and a few shards of his mental health. It's not a real relationship and there was nothing, nothing anywhere, about exclusivity.

He has to pull over when he realizes, finally, what's turning his stomach over, what he's trying to shy away from thinking about. He wouldn't be cheating on Karofsky. He'd be cheating on Blaine. And there's something… wrong enough inside him that he didn't think of that until now.

Grimly, he pulls back onto the road. Well. He'll consider it some more. He could break off this thing with Karofsky. The idea makes him light-headed with relief until he remembers that he'd have to actually break it off with Karofsky and face him afterwards – and what would happen to his life at school. He'd be back to slushies and locker shoves and dumpster tosses. His friends would, too. The phone calls would get worse. His entire life would fall apart. And if he's a quivering mess, Blaine will never go out with him – he'll be back to chivalrous, not-taking-advantage Blaine in a heartbeat, and it will all have been for nothing.

Oh, forget decisions. He's not going to have any to make for the next three hours, anyway.

"Hey, you," Karofsky says when he opens the door. He's wearing a coat and hat and has his keys. He's also considerably less bothered by the neighbors than usual; he comes out onto the stoop, puts his hands on Kurt's waist, and _picks him up_ to kiss him.

Kurt makes a noise into the kiss, which is almost violent it's going so hard, and locks his arms around Karofsky's shoulders. He does not think of good things when he is picked up by a jock. There isn't a dumpster handy, but his gut reaction doesn't care; it is convinced he's about to be thrown somewhere.

"I've got a surprise for you," Karofsky says when he puts him back down. He keeps his arms around Kurt's waist, holding him close, and kind of nuzzles one of Kurt's, which Kurt takes to indicate he should keep them around his neck. He does loosen them a little now that a collision with the pavement is not imminent.

"You said last week there was going to be one." Kurt produces a smile. "I do like surprises. Are you going to tell me what it is yet?"

"Hell no, that'd spoil it." Karofsky reaches back and closes the door. He has to let go of Kurt to lock it, but then takes his shoulder and steers him to his car, a shiny black pickup with flame decals that will, if there is any justice in the world, embarrass the hell out of him as soon as he turns eighteen. "Hop in."

Trust, Kurt thinks, is a funny thing. Because he doesn't think he trusts Karofsky, doesn't feel any trust, but he does get into his car and shut the door and he's not wilting with terror the way he would have a few weeks ago. Maybe for a… relationship, for lack of a better word, as screwed up as theirs is, lack of breath-robbing terror is kind of like trust.

"I'm just going to tell you now that if we miss my curfew, my dad will ground me for a month, minimum."

"We won't; we're not going far." Karofsky is grinning like a crazy man.

"I got your text. Does this qualify for 'dress nice'?" He gestures to his outfit.

Karofsky glances over and laughs, touches Kurt's cheek. "You look great. You always do. I don't know shit about that kind of thing, though. I just didn't want you to get pissed at me when it turned out we were going out, if you weren't dressed the way you would for that."

"I'm awful at not pestering people about surprises."

"Pester, I'm good at not telling."

"Animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

"You are one weird dude. We're not going to the zoo, a garden, or a rock quarry."

"Oh, all of my favorite locales, dashed."

Karofsky looks worried.

"I was kidding. Well, I don't object to a nice zoo every once in a while. As long as it's the nice kind and not the kind where the cages are too small so the big cats pace back and forth and I think they're hungry and would eat me if they could. But the other two are definitely way too out-doorsy for me."

"Oh, cool, okay. It's still not a zoo tonight, though."

"Dave?"

"Yeah?"

He's turning out of town, now. Well, he said they'd be back for curfew, they can't be going far. "Do your parents have a problem with… homosexuality?"

Karofsky shakes his head, starting to frown. "I don't think my dad does. I don't know about my mom. I don't bring it up a heck of a lot."

"I understand that," Kurt says, compensating for his plainly-unwelcome line of questioning by sliding over on the single seat and laying a hand on Karofsky's leg comfortingly. "I never brought up anything remotely gay-related around my dad until I came out. I would switch channels if he came home while I was watching _Queer Eye_. I was too afraid he'd, I don't know, even just roll his eyes."

Karofsky peers sideways at him. "But your dad – no offense, but your dad lives with you. How can you possibly ever have thought he had a problem with gays?"

"I wasn't as aware as everyone else seems to have been of how transparent my closet was. And I guess I thought that maybe he knew, but as long as I let him pretend, it wouldn't matter."

Karofsky shakes his head. "My parents don't. Not even a little. I couldn't handle it. I can't handle anyone but you."

"Why, though?" Karofsky's getting increasingly tense, and Kurt, ignoring his survival instinct, slides closer. "Dave, I'm really just trying to help here. I'm worried about you."

"I'm _fine_," Karofsky says, with the very best in fourteen-year-old defensiveness.

"Indulge me."

"I'm just not – I'm not okay with it."

"I would have believed that no problem a few weeks ago, but I'm having a little more trouble with it now. You're an exemplary boyfriend to me, Sunday nights – movie incident aside – and you are aware that being my boyfriend is very, very gay?" He draws back a little. "You _are_ aware of that, right? Oh God, are you going to have some kind of gay panic when you're forced to confront the fact that I'm a guy and have a penis?"

"Kurt," Karofsky says, relaxing enough to laugh. "Chill. I'm clear on you being a guy. And I'm not going to flip out on you."

"Good. Well, don't."

"I promise."

"My question stands, then. You're cool with being gay on Sunday nights, and the rest of the time it's enough to send you into fits of violence?"

"It's not that simple. It's easy with you. I mean, you used to make it harder, but when I can _have_ you instead of… instead of sitting around hating myself for wanting you. That's okay. Being with you is okay. That's different from being _gay_. Liking you is, I can do that. But being out and gay for like dudes in general, I can't do. I'm on teams and stuff, I have to play my way through college – I _can't_." He shrugs. "You're not scary. Being gay is, and I'm not ready for it."

"Fair enough," Kurt says slowly. "But your parents? Even just your dad? Does the thought of telling just him freak you out that much?"

Karofsky shakes his head. "I don't know. Yeah. Not – him. But then my mom would have to know. And I'd always be afraid other people would find out. A thing's not a secret if you start telling people."

"Yes. True." Kurt hesitates. "It's just – I'm not… trying to push you out of the closet, I promise. I would never; I know how important it is to be able to come out when you're ready. But, Dave, you're having a lot harder of a time being _in_ the closet than I was. I'm completely here for you about it, but I'm seventeen too. I'm not enough of a support system if… you get unhappy. I told Mercedes first, and it was a lot easier to tell my dad after I knew it wasn't the end of the world. I thought, maybe now you that you told me…"

"It was," Karofsky says. "It was the end of the world, you finding out. You looked at me like – I could have thrown up on you and you would have been more okay with it. And then I practically had a heart attack every hour of every day after that, waiting for you tell someone, especially after you did tell that private school… guy. When you found out, it wasn't a relief, or anything. I'm not real eager to do it again."

"But I didn't – I wasn't disgusted because you were gay. I was freaking out because you'd sexually assaulted me."

"I didn't _sexually assault_ you, it was a _kiss._"

"Yes, exactly. My first, for the record, jerk. And it was sexual contact you had no reason on earth to think I would want, given that we were having a screaming match. Yes is not the default, Karofsky –"

"Dave."

"- and sexual contact without it, that hurts someone? Is assault. Dave."

"I wasn't thinking. I let you push me off, I didn't have to. And I let you pull me of the prep school guy."

"Oh, yes, _letting_ me have a say in what happens to my body was really big of you – ugh, never mind, I did not start this conversation to argue with you over the definition of sexual assault and whether failing to do more of it somehow cancels out the first time. Which, even if it did, the cake topper incident would have canceled out your magnanimity in turn anyway. What I _meant_ this conversation to be about: Dave. I am worried about you." _And about my chances of surviving this without showing up violated and strangled in a ditch somewhere if you don't get help._ "The thought that I am seriously your only support system stresses me out. Is there anyone else, anyone at all, that you could consider telling. Considering that, I swear, there is nothing wrong with being gay, and you are not disgusting for it."

Karofsky shakes his head. "I don't mean to be a worry. But I'm fine. You're a great support system."

"What about Miss Pillsbury? Or Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell, whatever. She's not allowed to tell anyone else. I'll tell you _with_ her."

Karofsky snorts. "That's brilliant. You and I will go in there together and I'll make a tearful confession in the privacy of her glass office. No one will ever guess."

"I shouldn't go with you, granted. But you should still go."

"Yeah, she'd be a huge help. I'll get a pamphlet that says, 'So You're a Puckhead Who Wants to Give Head' and some uncomfortable looks out of it. And it's not like she hates me for messing with her boyfriend's glee kids or anything, she'll be real understanding."

"She _would_ be, when she hears. But you might be right about the pamphlet."

"Her biggest problem is which guy who's in love with her to choose. She's got no clue."

"That's not true, she's plainly struggling with a whole host of mental disabilities. Why do you keep getting me so off topic?"

"Kurt, Jesus. I promise to think seriously about telling my dad, okay? Can we drop it?"

"Fine. For now."

"And can you move your hand unless you're ready to do a hell of a lot more than talk?"

"Oh God," Kurt says, and snatches his hand back from Karofsky's thigh. He does not look down, as he doesn't want to know how serious the situation is. "Don't give me any crap about blue balls, Dave. I know them well and they're survivable."

"You're lucky you're cute, because you are annoying as fuck," Karofsky says, but he's laughing. "We're here, anyway." He's pulling into a fairly generic parking lot a town over from Lima. He grunts when he gets out of the car, but seems to be managing.

Kurt isn't, so much. Kurt thinks it might be hypocritical of _him_ to be having the gay panic right after snapping at Karofsky for it, but... he is, or something. He is experiencing physical repulsion at the idea that he got Karofsky hard. He's known, theoretically, that Karofsky is attracted to him. He's even come to terms with the fact that when they're kissing and Karofsky politely shifts so that their hips aren't touching any longer, it's probably because he's getting a boner. It's different to have Karofsky say it. He's supposed to _touch_ that in a few weeks. He's… not okay with this.

He gets out of the car and smiles anyway. "Where are we?"

"Masterpeace Theater, the one with the lame-ass pun name?"

Kurt, who knows the schedules of all local theaters by heart, turns this over for a few seconds and then gasps. "Oh my God, are you serious?"

Karofsky, who's been eyeing him anxiously, grins. "Yeah. Sometimes Azimio understands what you say to him in French class, so I know… you're probably bummed you missed sing-along _Sound of Music._ I wasn't really sure if you're a big fan of _Peter Pan_, but… worth a shot?"

"Completely worth a shot. You hit a home run. This is fantastic, this is –" something Blaine would do, minus the creepy secret car ride and oh God no one knows where I am right now "-really great. Thank you."

"Good." Karofsky takes his hand and points the way toward the front of the building. "Let's get on in, then." He tucks Kurt's hand into his pocket as they walk, which isn't entirely unwelcome as it is freezing out. "First fight, kinda?"

"Oh." Kurt has trouble with this, since he's more used to yelling at and being yelled at by Karofsky than not, but supposes it is the first time he's dared to do more than snap since they started "dating." "Kind of, yes."

"Does that mean we get to make up right?"

"You're adorable, really, that's so subtle." Since they've reached the sidewalk around the side of the building and there are a fair number of people filtering around to the front, Kurt assumes he doesn't mean right now. He is apparently wrong. He "mph"s into his second kiss of the evening and is jostled farther into Karofsky's arms by a hurrying passerby.

Well, he thinks, public. That's progress.

* * *

Dave is not a musical person, and he sure as hell doesn't know the lyrics to any of these fruity songs in _Peter Pan_, which is for some reason not the Disney version, but one with a hell of a lot more songs to have lyrics in. There is a _lot_ of singing. And Peter Pan is a grown woman, he realizes halfway through. Shit's just weird.

He hums along sometimes and tries to follow with the program's words once in a while because it makes Kurt smile at him, but mostly he's happier listening to Kurt sing.

The story's a little more unsettling this time around, too, or maybe this stuff wasn't in the Disney version. He doesn't remember. He decides he's not a fan of this movie, but hey, it's making Kurt beam and sing and made him jump up and down a little when he put a name to it, so it's worth it.

The weird thing is almost two hours long, so they hurry back to the car; they'd be fine for time if Kurt didn't have to drive the half-hour back from Dave's house. He thinks automatically that he'll drop Kurt off, then pick him up for school tomorrow in his Navigator to give it back, and remembers a half-second later that that won't work. They do have to step on it a little, then.

Kurt is giddy and bouncing – it's like music gets him high or something, his mood is so abruptly and completely good – but he's also shivering violently, and Dave shrugs off his jacket and slings it over Kurt's shoulders.

"Dave, I can't, it'll completely spoil my outfit."

"No one will see, we're almost at the car. I don't think that thing you're wearing has any insulation at all. Really, put it on. And – put your hands in the pockets."

Kurt rolls his eyes but does, still smiling widely. "Oh," he says moments later, and pulls his left hand back out again with the box in it.

"It's for you," Dave says, in case there's any doubt. "I'm sorry if it's not – I thought a ring would be overboard, and I've never seen you wear bracelets, only weird armbands and stuff, but I know you wear necklaces sometimes. But I don't really know anything about jewelry. We can return it, switch it for something."

They've reached the car, and Kurt stops to lean against it as he opens the box.

"I thought," Dave says, "because we have French together. And the other one is, you know, ships. _Peter Pan_. They're both from that same place that did your little glasses necklace, so they're not real out of style, I hope. And they weren't expensive, so you don't have to feel weird or nothing."

"Dave," Kurt finally says, putting him out of his babbling misery. "They're perfect. Really, thank you, they are. I just don't – I don't understand. You already took me out tonight, what's the occasion?"

"It's our anniversary. One month. Four weeks of dating."

Kurt stares up at him, dead white. "I didn't – oh my God, I didn't realize. I don't have anything for you."

Dave laughs. "I didn't think you would. Chill, dude. If I wanted a two-way party I would have reminded you. I wanted to surprise you. I wanted, I don't know, I wanted this to be my treat. The receipt's in the bottom of the box, though, if you want something different."

"No, I meant it, these are perfect. I'm almost speechless at how perfect they are; I usually give people lists to spare them the trouble of trying to guess what I want."

"Oh. Good." Dave grins with relief. "Let's get in the car, huh? You've got a curfew."

"Shoot, yes." Kurt hurries around to the other side.

Once they're driving, Dave adds, "I'm glad those were good. I thought maybe I should have gotten you the little geisha."

"Excuse me?"

"It seems like they're in right now." Dave shrugs. "There were a bunch of them, little Japanese things. And a Mayan one. Did you know Maya was a place?"

Kurt raises his eyebrows. "Maya is not a place. The Maya are a people who live in Mexico and Guatemala." He's looking at Dave funny, but finally shrugs it off. "No, these are great. Thank you so much, for them and for tonight. I know it wasn't your idea of a rollicking good time."

"Do you remember the story being that messed up? I don't remember that from the Disney version."

Kurt smiles. "I do remember. I used to watch it every day when I was nine or so. I have it memorized."

"Oh, right. Peter Pan is a complete jerk, though."

"A little bit, yes."

"He's a total bitch. Wendy's in love with him and he thinks it'll be funny to play house with her and then keep reminding her it's fake, that shit about 'it's only make believe, isn't it' when he knows she doesn't want it to be."

Kurt shifts on the seat, toying with the white box in his hands. "I don't think Peter knows she's in love with him, really. I don't think he can wrap his head around the concept." He shivers and pulls the coat tighter. "There are complexes named after them, you know that? Peter Pan syndrome for someone who doesn't want to grow up, is socially immature. And Wendy syndrome for someone who hangs around anyway, thinking they can mother them out of it. Something like that."

Dave reaches forward and turns the heat up. "Keep cranking it if you're cold."

"Thanks." He holds his hands next to the air vents for a second before opening the box again and touching one of the necklaces, Dave can't see which one.

"Put one on? I know it'll mess up your outfit, I just want to see one on you."

"I was thinking of both, actually, I'm afraid I'll drop the box somehow. I have an irrational, deep-seated fear of ruining or losing gifts because once I broke a mirror my aunt had just given me. I hid it right away and she never knew, but I felt awful." He's good at maneuvering the tiny latches.

"How'd you break it?"

"Stop, it's not funny! Well, it was a little funny. I was trying to walk to my dresser while watching the room behind me with the mirror and I forgot that meant I couldn't see ahead. I tripped. I was twelve, alright?"

"That is hilarious, I'm sorry."

"It was a very nice mirror." He finishes the second necklace. "I was devastated."

"I bet."

The ride back is a lot more comfortable than the ride over, both because they're not fighting and because Kurt's hand isn't on his thigh. He would prefer if Kurt were closer, though; he stays practically over against the door.

When they pull into his driveway, they have ten minutes to spare before Kurt absolutely has to leave. "Come here, let me see," he says, sliding away from the steering wheel himself. When Kurt meets him halfway, he takes the other boy's hips in his hands and lifts him up – his legs are long enough for it to be awkward getting there, but he's light enough that it's manageable – and sets him down straddling Dave's lap, knees tucked along either side of Dave's legs. He likes the way Kurt grabs him when he lifts him up, like he's safe as long as he's hanging on.

"Huh," he says when Kurt's settled onto his knees. "Pretty fabulous." He fingers the Eiffel tower one, with its little black bow. He's afraid to touch the anchor; it' so shiny, he'd probably smudge it.

"I'm marking down in my diary that you used the word fabulous," Kurt says.

"Yeah, I opened myself up for that one." He puts his hand back on Kurt's hip. "If you lose them or whatever, I'll just get you more, so don't sweat it. They were embarrassingly cheap. It really called into question everything I assume about your clothes, Hummel."

"I do occasionally look this fabulous on a budget," Kurt says airily. "Incredible, I know."

"Yeah." Dave has lost his train of thought. Kurt is on his lap, warm and solid, dwarfed by his coat. If he thought Kurt wearing his shirt was a turn-on, it's nothing to this, those delicate hands and fine wrists in his huge sleeves, his collar brushing Kurt's pretty jaw. He moves his hands to Kurt's waist, small and swimming under the heavy jacket. Kurt's wearing jewelry he gave him. Dave was Kurt's _first kiss._ Kurt Hummel, who struts around school in circulation-depriving pants like he's better than anyone there, and Dave was the first guy to kiss him.

He tugs Kurt down for another kiss. He likes that Kurt's taller like this, on his lap, likes that he's the one who has tilt his head back a little for a change. It's a novelty. Funny, but nice.

Fuck, he's ridiculously turned on.

He moves his hands resolutely to Kurt's face, because leaving them down on his waist is only going to lead to boundary-crossing. He's proud of himself for being a gentleman, but it's not helping his situation any. He has his eyes closed and he can still see Kurt's face, his perfect face, with his fingers – soft cheeks, fluttering eyelashes, sweeping jaw, slender neck –

Kurt pulls back, hands braced on Dave's chest. "Um," he says.

"Oh." He may have pulled Kurt forward before he moved his hands, and he is now sporting a raging erection that is probably, yeah, definitely, pressed against Kurt's ass. "Yeah, sorry, just hang on a second." He slides Kurt back toward his knees. "Nng."

"I should move," Kurt says, voice shaking, and goes to climb off. He's easy to hold still.

"Don't. I'll be fine in a sec. Really, don't." He smoothes his hands over Kurt's legs. "I want a second to remember this." Kurt has the most amazing lips. Soft and pink and wide, and he, Dave Karofsky, is the only one who's ever had his mouth on them. It's like a miracle. Somewhere in his wicked childhood, or however that song goes, whatever, the point is, how did he _get_ this.

"We can always do it again next week. Inside, where it's warm." Kurt swallows, then leans forward and kisses his forehead. "I'll see you on Sunday." He puts a hand on Dave's cheek. "Thank you, really. This was amazing."

"Christ, your fingers are freezing." He puts a hand over Kurt's to hold it there a second longer. "Okay, go on."

* * *

Kurt pulls into the driveway with a minute to spare, and spends it with his head against the steering wheel.

When he gets inside, Carole is in the kitchen chopping lettuce; his dad and Finn are out at some sporting event which he is okay to not be attending, this time around. He drops his bag in a seat and goes to help. "You know Finn doesn't eat salad," he says. "I'm starting to become alarmed by his aversion to leafy greens."

"I've been trying to convince him there aren't bugs in it for years," she sighs. "How was your date?"

"It wasn't," he says, and stops, because it was, but it was fake, but if it had been with Blaine, which is what she thinks, it wouldn't have been a date. Possibly. "Carole."

"Hm?"

"I know that between Finn and… me… you don't have any reason to be happy when one of us has a crush. But – Blaine likes me. I mean, he likes me too." He looks at her hopefully. "I'm going to have to break this to my dad one way or another…"

Carole leaves the lettuce and hugs him. "Oh, Kurt. That's wonderful, sweetie. I know you've been hoping for this. Of course I'll help you with your dad." She pulls back. "I think he'll be just as happy for you as I am. He's going to want Blaine to come over, of course."

"Yes, he is. I'm thinking of asking Santana to go after Blaine the way she does potential boyfriends, with the credit check and everything, before I agree to date him; I figure she'll be a good warm-up." He leans into Carole's side and she wraps an arm around him.

"Kurt, he does make you happy, doesn't he?"

"What, Blaine? Yes. Very. He's the most uncomplicatedly happy thing in my life right now."

"I would have said the same thing a few weeks ago, but lately… You used to be smiling like a loon when you got back from hanging out with him. I don't mean to pry, and I'm sure you know what you're doing –"

"It's fine, Carole, I'm not that defensive."

"Good. Well, lately, you get home, and you don't seem like being with him made you happy."

"Oh. That. Well, Sundays. We… I tend to talk about less-fun things. Get it all out of the way. Fresh new start on the week. I should be paying him for therapy, really. But Blaine definitely makes me happy. Very happy."

"I see." Carole squeezes him. "In that case, I will help you break this to your father."

* * *

Kurt boots up his laptop and does homework for a half an hour, then fools around on Facebook. At one point, he composes a message to Mercedes.

_I messed up so, so badly. Blaine finally wants to date me and I'm going to screw everything up because I'm already dating Karofsky on Sundays. That doesn't count, does it? Does it count as cheating if you don't want to be doing it and you're just trying to get out of high school without getting yourself or your stepbrother killed?_

_And Karofsky had to go and be so sweet the day before I'm supposed to answer Blaine. There were iffy moments, there always are, but he was overall about as considerate as I could possibly hope for. He got me presents, for goodness' sake. Nice presents. And cheap ones, so it wasn't like it was uncomfortable. He took me to Sing-Along Peter Pan, and it wasn't because he enjoyed it. It's unhealthy to feel like I could be cheating on HIM, but…_

_I'm getting concerned about how seriously he's taking this. What jock not only notices my glasses necklace – you'd be able to verify for me how many times I've worn it to school, but it's not that much and it's just not natural for him to know about it – but has figured out where it's from? I swear, Mercedes, he knew it was Forever 21 and he got more necklaces from them, it was surreal._

_Does it make any kind of sense to be worried because he's being too nice? I appreciate not being given a reason for the constant terror, really, how much worse would this be if he were nasty, or even just rude? I'm being ridiculous. Or I'm not. It's a lot of thought to put into something you threatened your way into in the first place, is my point. And if he's capable of that – maybe I shouldn't be worrying? Maybe these are all good signs? They're freaking me out, but they really could be good signs. He's capable of normal behavior. Very nice behavior. If he weren't such a mess over being gay, he could get a normal, nice boyfriend, without coercion, and he'd be fine, and I'd be fine, and everything would be perfect._

_But he IS that much of a mess over being gay, and until he's not, he's willing to engage in sexual activities with someone he threatened into it and he'll smile and look at me like I'm special but if I said no –_

_I just think he needs help. A lot more help than I can give him._

_I think I need help telling him so._

He deletes the message without sending it.

* * *

When Dave's parents get home, his mother kisses him and announces that she's going to bed with a significant look at his father.

"You're on me duty?" Dave asks, closing his laptop.

"Well, we thought since you talked to me about this girl last time… Is there anything you can tell me about tonight? We're not judging you, David. We want to help."

"I know, Dad, really. I get it. I'll let you help when you can. I just have to work through some stuff. Anyway, she came over, I took her out, I gave her some jewelry – it was cheap, okay, don't look at me like that, I know not to give scary-expensive stuff. She seemed happy. We saw a movie." He chuckles, imagining a twelve-year-old Kurt steering by mirror. "She told me some funny stories."

"Good. That's good."

"Have fun with Mom? Since we're sharing, I mean."

His dad smiles, really smiles, at Dave for the first time in a while. A second later it's gone again, and he looks tired and worried again, but it's something to work with. "We had a nice time, yes."

"Cool." Dave stands up and, awkward as fuck though it is, hugs his dad. He pats him on the back a lot to make up for how girly it is, then steps back. "G'night, Dad."

"Goodnight, David." He looks stunned. And hopeful. Oh yeah. Dave can work this. Everything's fine, and he's going to prove it.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you guys so much for commenting! It keeps me writing, haha! For real, it is awful encouraging, especially with a story this hard to write.

* * *

This is a comparison Kurt doubts anyone has ever made, but right now, Sue Sylvester looks not dissimilar to an angel. She is a callous, near-psychotic woman who cares about winning cheerleading competitions for an insignificant school in Ohio more than she cares about the intake of solid foods and has absolutely no grasp on the concept that there are things it is wrong to do in pursuit of this aim. _And his father knows all of this._

A few seconds ago, Coach Sylvester bore down upon him with singleminded purpose, grabbed his arm, and hauled him into her office, assuring his lateness to second period math on Monday. This worried him until he happened upon his idea, which is going to save his relationship with Blaine just as soon as he figures out how to make his ex-coach play along.

"Porcelain," she says, depositing him in a chair and taking the one behind her desk, "I think I've been more than patient with you, and I'll tell you why: Sue Sylvester doesn't need vocals to take sectionals. Last year, I revolutionized the art of cheerleading when I introduced vocals as part and parcel of our routines, with you as my voice."

Kurt wonders if this is how Christine feels when the Phantom goes on about how "it's me they hear."

"In the wake of my brilliant strike, there is a movement in the cheerleading world to ape my methods, as there always is. The talk was that no team would get past sectionals this year without a vocalist of freakish and unnatural talent." She points a monogrammed pen at him. "Sue Sylvester took sectionals without any vocalist at all, just to prove she could."

"I heard," Kurt says in the pause for acknowledgement of her genius. "Congratulations. And on the wedding, too, Mrs. Sylvester. I'm sure you'll be very happy."

"I will be," she says. "My relative happiness, however, does not change the fact that you have become an embarrassment to the squad."

"Coach, I'm not on the squad."

"Are you brain damaged?"

She appears to honestly want an answer to that. "No?"

"Then you have no excuse for not remembering that I have not kicked you off. And despite your waxen pallor, I will do you the favor of assuming that the goth Asian's king of a father has not made you into his vampiric spawn, so neither are you dead."

"But you hold tryouts at the beginning of every year, and you spent a half an hour at the end of sophomore year telling us not to think for a nanosecond that we wouldn't be replaced by newer flesh. I didn't try out."

"I say again: I didn't kick you off and you're not dead. This year so far, you have been on layaway. Since you are hopelessly uncoordinated and learn both dances and routines slowly at best, I spared everyone involved the pain of fruitlessly attempting to add gymnastics to your woeful list of skills. Now, however, it is time to get into gear for regionals. And for regionals, Sue Sylvester wants you and your glass-shattering excuse for a singing voice." She slides a binder across the desk toward him. "Your diet plan, a list of the exercises for you to perform every morning and evening, and our practice schedule. There is also a schedule of the time you will spend rehearsing with Preggers, Boobs McGee, and Boobs' girlfriend, as I do expect all of you to sing. You may come by tomorrow at eight for a fitting, as I assume that your uniform no longer fits your disorientingly elongated body."

Kurt braces himself. "Coach Sylvester, I did have reasons for not joining the squad this year."

"All irrelevant."

"No, none of them are." He reaches over and takes the binder. "But I might be able to work around them if you do me a favor."

Coach Sylvester's eyes narrow dangerously, but she says, "Well, it can't hurt to hear your tiny request out. What is there in this world that's beyond me, after all? Name your terms, Porcelain, and I'll think them over."

Kurt smiles innocently. "Just add something to my schedule for me."

* * *

Dave hates Finn Hudson with an intensity that is starting to bother him. He's always known that the guy is a douche – so Dave was an early bloomer, so Hudson has to go and make a thing out of it? He hates him for that, and he hates him even more because no one else agrees. Hudson is the golden boy of the school, star of every sport he tries, gets any girl he wants – only glee club finally drove down his cred. And even that, you can _tell_, it only makes him _better_ according to half the school. Hudson loses half his power and influence over sophomore year and still brings the half of the school that didn't like him to its knees. All of this while he's being an idiot, a complete fucking brain trust, and he has this ridiculous clueless look that's so sweet, and great legs, and these brown eyes like – yeah, he's annoying. Plus he went from Fabray, hottest girl in school, right to Lopez, other hottest girl in school, and then to Berry, who is pathetic but Dave may have contemplated dating her a few times – she's tiny, smart, driven, brunette and loud, and has a masculine jaw; she comes as close as girls do to turning him on.

And all of this is without mentioning Kurt. Kurt's big-eyed, swoony routine around Hudson. Kurt's _focus_ around Hudson, who knows what it's like to not have to pursue Kurt but have Kurt after him. And this is the dude who now lives with Kurt.

But he'd been ignoring Hudson because Kurt was more interesting. Now Kurt is off-limits and Dave's mind skids away from him in school because it's confusing and makes his head hurt. Hudson may be off-limits, but he doesn't make Dave's head hurt. Dave's started thinking about him way too much in school and it makes everything about him increasingly annoying. He hates thinking about him and can't not and it's making him hate the dude hard.

The worst part, though, is that they're heading off the field after practice, Hudson a few feet in front of him talking to Evans, and he wants to be able to join in. He thinks Kurt would like it if Dave were on good terms with Hudson. That would be good, right? This idea makes sense and even starts to wear away at his hatred for Hudson. He has a nebulous picture of himself getting along with the Asian chick, too, and the black one. Berry, even. All the guys on the team who hate Dave right now. All of Kurt's friends. They seem like a good group, tight the way a team should be. And if Hudson can get away with it –

But Hudson doesn't get away with it. Hudson is flirting with loserdom. Dave would know; he's spent about a year reminding him. Hudson is losing and Dave cannot afford to lose.

He can't afford to lose his focus like this. He hangs back with Azimio and sniggers at Puckerman pushing Wheels' chair like a total bitch. He maneuvers the locker room minefield the way he always does, eyes down and pray. "I'll meet you, bro," he tells Azimio, who's giving him a ride home. "I got one thing to take care of first."

"What's that?"

Dave had been hoping he wouldn't ask. "Gotta drop something off," he grunts. This is technically true. Azimio, confident that Dave would tell him if it were interesting, nods and goes back to deciding which of his shorts have reached critical condition and need to be smuggled into someone else's laundry for retrieval at a later date.

Dave saunters down the nearly deserted hallway, keeping his eyes peeled. He has a cover story – he's playing a prank – but nothing to back it up with, so he'd rather just not get caught. He should have grabbed like some whipped cream or something he could claim to be shoving in instead.

The thing about the locks at McKinley is that they're insanely easy to pick, especially the ones on the lockers. Puckerman taught Azimio how freshman year when the football team opened Ben Israel's locker so they could steal everything in it and fill it with jockstraps. Azimio taught Dave how a few months later. He thinks they stole something of Saunders'. He feels bad about that now, suddenly, as he remembers; the guy had to transfer after Mr. Ryerson got fired. Well, how was he supposed to know the dude was getting molested? You can't check every prank victim to be sure they're healthy and happy, you'd never get shit done. _…Oh._

Fuck that. Pussies who can't play a few harmless jokes, throw a slushy now and then, they lose. Dave is not going to lose.

He picks Kurt's lock and swings open the little metal door. He pulls the envelope out of his pocket, grinning to himself. This is perfect. He sets it between the back of the locker and a can of hairspray, where Kurt can't miss it, and goes to close the locker again. He glances at the inside of the door as he's doing it and grins – pictures from magazines, and of the black chick and that drunken old lady who joined the Spanish class for a while. She'd been onstage when Kurt wore the cowboy outfit.

There's also – that. Still.

His smile dies. Prep Boy is still up there, framed and smiling, all smarm and condescension, with the teenage-girl collage of letters underneath. Good. This is school. As long as people think Kurt has a crush on someone else. Kurt's safer if everyone thinks he's crushing outside of school, makes people less paranoid about being the new Hudson. Makes them not need to accuse other guys of being the new Hudson. Good. And Dave's safer. What did he want to see, a picture of himself in there? Yeah, a death sentence for both of them.

He slams the locker door hard and stomps outside.

Kurt is there. He's standing by his car, across the lot, watching the door impatiently. His arms are crossed, one foot tapping the pavement, one eyebrow arched. _God, you're beautiful_, Dave thinks, looking at him. He takes a step toward him. Kurt notices him. His eyes widen, body drawing in and tight, and Dave stops, thrown.

Hudson brushes past him roughly, glaring, and then Puckerman does the same on his other side. "Kurt," Hudson says loudly. "Hey, dude."

_Right,_ Dave thinks. School. Things work this way. They're in school. He heads toward Azimio's car to wait. At the car, he twists a rearview mirror and watches them. Kurt must be picking the other two up. Hudson has stolen his keys and is holding them over his head, grinning and dancing in place. Kurt puts his hand out and snaps his fingers. Puckerman shoves Hudson and says something; Kurt tips his head back, annoyed. Dave thinks he might also be smiling a little, but the visual's not great. He and Hudson do something with their hands – rock paper scissors? Really?

Hudson must have won; he fist pumps and climbs in the driver's seat. Puckerman takes shotgun, and Kurt slides into the back seat.

Dave isn't _jealous._ He's not a jealous boyfriend. Jealous boyfriends are assholes. He's seen that shit and he wants no part of it.

But his boyfriend's living with another dude and has a picture of yet another in his locker. Excuse him for needing a minute to calm down.

* * *

Kurt walks into the living room with his new Cheerios binder clasped to his chest like a shield. Finn is upstairs in his room, leaving Kurt alone with his dad and Carole, which is good except that Finn has awful timing and will walk back in halfway through this conversation, he just knows it.

His dad takes one look at the logo on the binder and says, "Aw, hell, Kurt."

"What's wrong?" Carole looks back and forth between them.

"That crazy woman again," Burt says, gesturing to Kurt's binder. "I thought you said you were done with that after last year." He shakes his head. "You know how I feel about this. I don't like the way you eat when you're on that team."

"I promise not to do that again," Kurt says, perching on the edge of the nearest armchair. "But Coach Sylvester says I was never off the squad just because I didn't try out again; it meant I was on standby and now she's reactivating me."

"Coach Sylvester?" Carole says. "Isn't she in charge of the cheerleaders? Why does she talk about you like you're a robot?"

"She thinks they are," Burt says. "Explain the diet to Carole, kiddo."

"Dad. Please. Anyway, I don't have pear hips anymore, so I won't have to diet as hard this time."

"Woman had my kid eating celery for a week," Burt says. "And you never had – okay, you know what, I'd rather not discuss anyone's hips."

"Dad, I really want to do this. I was wrong to quit. It did help with the bullying last year, and the more crossover between glee club and the popular groups, the better for all of us. And you remember how helpful Coach Sylvester was with the death threat. She likes me, she just has a weird way of showing it. She watches out for me in the hallways the way she said she would, too, she just can't be everywhere at once. And if I'm on the team, she'll pretty much know where I am all the time. The other kids on the team will be morally obligated not to look the other way, too. Plus, the Cheerios are an incredibly gratifying creative outlet. This makes a lot of sense for me to do right now."

"You know I'm not gonna tell you flat out that you can't if you think it's a good idea, but I'll tell you right now, from where I'm sitting it's a dumb one." He looks at Carole. "Sylvester has endurance tests rejected by the Marines as cruel and unusual punishment. She thinks it keeps kids on their toes."

"But I won Nationals with her last year," Kurt says. "She has confidence in my abilities and I love Mr. Schuester but she gives me a lot more to do than he does. He's a good teacher, but he doesn't know what to do with a male singer who can hit the notes I can. Coach Sylvester doesn't care that I'm a guy. Or she may actually not be aware of it, but – I already said yes."

"Well, I didn't figure you were asking for permission," Burt sighs.

"No, not exactly." Kurt fidgets.

"What'd you do?"

He looks at the sliver of couch cushion visible between his dad and Carole. "I lied. About Sunday nights." He flips the binder open and lays it on the coffee table. "I'm sorry, she made me swear. Actually, she made me sign a legal document drafted by her attorney Gloria Allred forfeiting everything I now own and will own in the future if I let it leak before today. She says surprise is a vital part of her strategy, so until she brought me back onto the team officially no one could know about my secret training. She wants me to sing Italian opera, and I don't sing opera or know Italian, so…"

His dad looks at the schedule, which postdates Kurt's Sunday night six to ten p.m. Italian opera lessons by a month.

"These would be the times you told me you were spending with that Blaine kid," he says.

"Dad," Kurt says, heart in his throat.

"No." Carole puts her hand on his knee, but he keeps going. "You got something you can't tell me about, you say as much. Don't you ever lie to me."

"I thought – I thought you wouldn't let me go –"

"If you said it was for school? Hell, if you just begged hard enough? When do I ever not let you do stuff you want? Because I trust you, Kurt, to make good decisions, or learn from the bad ones, and to _not lie to me._"

"I'm sorry. I, it was stupid."

"Sweetie, why don't you go to your room for a while and your dad and I will discuss this," Carole says.

"I'm sorry," Kurt repeats, and flees.

He almost collides with Finn in the hallway. "Whoa, dude. Can't a guy get some snacks without being ploughed over? …Kurt, what's wrong?"

"You might not want to go down there right now. They're having a discussion. About _me._"

"What'd you do? You never do anything!"

"I lied about what I was doing Sunday nights. Finn. I don't know – my dad hasn't been this mad at me since I was being a jerky fourteen-year-old, I don't know what to do."

"Dude, you're like hyperventilating, relax. Here –" He steers Kurt into his room and sits him at his desk chair. "Your dad loves you, he's going to get over this."

"I know but he's so mad right now. Oh my God." _And I just lied again._ Somehow this is only just occurring to him. If his dad ever found out that he'd lied twice about the same thing. He's doing all of this _for_ his dad and everyone, why should they get to make him feel bad about it?

"Come on, deep breaths. It's going to be fine. He'll forgive you in like a few days, tops, you know that. Dude, I know you have parent-manipulation techniques. You can work this."

"Yes. That's true."

"Yeah, you can passive-aggressive your way out of this."

"I am a champion at sulking and sighing. Passive-aggressive is not a verb, Finn."

"That's more like it." Finn punches his arm.

"Do you think your mom's mad? Oh my God, I have no idea how to handle that. She's never been mad at me, ever. I mean she was probably mad when she found out I had a crush on you and didn't say anything, but she was never mad to my face."

"Mom wasn't mad when I got Quinn pregnant, or you know, when I thought I did. I think she'll forgive you for lying about this. What were really doing Sunday nights?"

"I have to – I have training for the Cheerios. Coach Sylvester changed her mind about letting me go and there was a top-secret thing, I wasn't allowed to tell. I thought, I was spending so much time with Blaine anyway, it wouldn't matter if I said I was spending a little more."

"That's crazy. But I'm not mad at you," Finn offers.

"Oh, good."

"Hey." Finn tugs him forward into an awkward excuse for a hug. "I'll work my mom if she's mad. What are brothers for?"

* * *

Kurt has, overall, not had a very good day. He is not going to let that stop him from getting a real boyfriend. He flops down on his bed and opens Skype, video calling Blaine immediately.

"I've been thinking," he says as soon as Blaine picks up, "and despite all of these thoughts, I'm not coming up with one single solitary reason not to drive over there right this second and kiss you."

Blaine's face goes from cautious to beaming. "In terms of right now, I would like to point out that you would miss out on a good deal of beauty sleep and make someone cry at school tomorrow. But in a more general sense…" He ducks his head. "If you're sure? You know, I promised myself I wouldn't bring this up until at least this summer. I like you so much, and I didn't want to make things harder for you –"

"You didn't. You won't." Kurt rolls his eyes. "Or, alright, neither of us can promise that. I know we're both seventeen and things could get more dramatic this way. But I think it's worth the chance. I really think it's worth the chance. The fact that my life is a little messy right now doesn't mean I can't make my own decisions. Anyway, if you really want to date me, you had better get used to drama. If it's not me, it's one of my friends, or my stepbrother…"

"I love you," Blaine says.

"Oh. Oh. Okay."

"You said it before and I didn't want to make you feel obligated – like it was a done deal? – by saying it back, but I do. You're amazing, Kurt."

"Oh," Kurt says again. "Thank you."

Blaine laughs. "You're also adorable. What do you want to do for our first official date? As boyfriends."

"A movie. I insist on an absolute cliché for a first date. I'll even eat candy."

"Will you drink any soda?"

"I'm in love, not completely insane." He grimaces. "I do have weekly weigh-ins again, too. Coach Sylvester is bringing me back on."

"Coach Sylvester? I'm sorry, I'm completely lost."

"Really? I never told you about my stint as a cheerleader?"

"Your stint as. What?"

Kurt sits up, hauling his laptop with him as he scoots back to sit against his headboard. "Don't look at me like that, I didn't wear a skirt or anything. There are a bunch of guys who cheerlead at McKinley. The Cheerios rule the school."

"I think you may have misinterpreted my expression, and the skirt comment isn't helping."

"Oh." Kurt feels himself blush. "Don't get too excited, the uniform isn't very flattering. It makes me look like a beanpole. With long arms."

"Hey, you get to see me in a uniform all the time. I'm pretty psyched to have it work both ways. Why did you quit and why are you back in?"

"Coach Sylvester wanted to take sectionals without me, but I guess she's decided regionals are an acceptable point in the game to bring out the secret weapon. She let me know a few weeks ago, but it was top secret. It's still sort of secret, actually. I didn't officially join this year, because I was too busy – and sore from my growth spurt, honestly – and tired of being berated constantly. But it won't be so bad now that I know she really wants me there. And since she knows that I know. I think my self-esteem can take it."

"I'll be happy to give you pep-talks after every rehearsal. Practice? What do you call those?"

"I called getting ready for football 'rehearsal,' Blaine, I don't know." Kurt waves his hand dismissively. "How was your day?"

"Wes went mad on a power high and wanted to do 'Cell Block Tango' at regionals, we had to talk him down to 'Razzle Dazzle'." He winces. "Oh, I probably shouldn't have told you that."

"I promise not to tell Rachel. Just don't keep tempting me. Anyway, I can't trust you not to have let that slip in a calculated attempt to mislead us."

"My evil plot foiled!" Blaine laughs. "We also had a roaringly successful impromptu concert today and, incidentally, got me out of math class."

"You don't really appreciate that, though," Kurt points out. Blaine does not hate math with any sort of decent passion. He's good at it. This is a failing Kurt is willing to overlook.

"I was savoring it for your vicarious pleasure."

"My hero."

"Kurt?"

"Oh shit Blaine I love you sorry I have to go, my dad's pissed." He looks over at the door. "Come in, Dad."

"Oh, okay, bye," Blaine manages to get out before Kurt closes the window. He shuts his laptop as his dad closes the door behind him.

"You're grounded," he says.

"Really?"

"You don't think that's fair?"

"No, I – it is. I just haven't been grounded in like four years."

Burt sinks down on the end of the bed. "I don't like you spendin' time with someone who asks you to lie to your parents."

"She didn't, exactly. She just didn't want me to tell you the truth. I could have told you that it was a secret, I'm sorry, I just didn't want you to worry."

"Sometimes I need to worry. Like for example when my kid's going out at night and lying to me about where he'll be. After some guy threatened to kill you."

"Oh, God. Dad, no. Mrs. Sylvester has military training, she wouldn't let anything happen to me. And Karofsky hasn't so much as looked at me wrong in a month. I think his dad talked to him, he must have believed me that day he was here. I know," he adds before Burt can interrupt, "I screwed up. I just mean I did consider my safety." He's dug himself in so deeply at this point he can't even see the top from where he is. _He's going to kill me_, Kurt realizes. _If he finds out I lied so much about putting myself alone with Dave Karofsky, he's going to –_

"Yeah, well." Burt takes off his hat and rubs his head. "Two weeks. I'm rusty at this, I don't remember what's reasonable."

"I think that's pretty light."

"I'll double up on it next time."

"There won't be a next time. I won't lie again." A lie backed by Sue Sylvester should be good enough to hold him over, right? He won't have to lie again. Ten seconds of a Blaine-related excuse to her and she'd said she'd swear publically to having helped him train kittens to dance for orphans if it would make him stop talking about the grotesqueries of teenage hormones and the repulsive acts to which they drove him and his pimple-ridden brethren.

"Good." Burt stands up. "You can still do your cheerleading. I'll call you when dinner's ready."

"Dad, I'm sorry."

"I know, kiddo." His dad ruffles his hair before he leaves the room, but his shoulders are down, the corners of his mouth stretched and tired.

"I love you."

"Love you too." The door shuts behind him.

Kurt buries his face in his hands. He stays that way until it's time to go down for dinner.

* * *

He spends a half an hour after dinner texting Mercedes to tell her the edited-for-posterity version of what's going on and procure her sympathy, and texting Blaine to convince him that nothing's going on and his dad is overreacting to his rejoining a team Burt doesn't think much of, and without permission or even a heads-up. He could, honestly, come up with something other than "I said I was spending time with you" as his substitute lie and tell something approaching the truth, but he's tired of variations on the theme of Karofsky and what can Blaine tell him that he doesn't already know? He was stupid and thoughtless, he's hurt his father, lying is bad. Blaine would probably put it more nicely than that, he thinks wistfully, but then, he doesn't deserve to have it put any more nicely. That's the whole point of the truth.

This is going to put a crimp in their dating plans, but his dad seriously sucks at grounding people and hasn't forbidden either his phone or the internet; Blaine says he has a crazy idea he wants to try out that weekend, and they can always talk every day in the interim. Mercedes has promised to come over bearing gifts on Wednesday, by which point he'll certainly have bargained his dad into guests.

Somehow his ability to change his dad's mind is not as cheering a thought as it used to be.

* * *

Dave has a bad feeling about dinner tonight. His mom asked him to choose the meal. She doesn't do that unless it's his birthday or she's worried. And his dad is just eying him too much, too heavily. He tries, at one point, to get out of it, claiming Azimio called and wants to hang, but his dad pretty much says "please don't turn this into an actual fight, but either you back down or we're going to have one" and Dave makes a big deal about texting Azimio back to tell him he's stuck in with the parents. He actually just deletes the text so that Azimio won't be on him tomorrow about what the fuck that was, of course, but he does write it all out, with some impatient grunts to let them know how disappointing it was.

When they're all around the table and grace is over, Dave digs in. It's some kind of spaghetti, and he likes most versions of spaghetti so usually he'd be into it, but right now he just wants to eat fast and be done, and have an excuse not to talk in the meantime.

They let him get halfway done before his mom puts her hand on his and say, "Dave, hon, we have to talk to you about something."

He drops his fork onto his plate. "I knew it."

"It's about Kurt Hummel," his dad says.

Dave's vision tunnels. He feels like he can't breathe. "What about him," he says, and can't tell if it sounds normal. He means it to sound normal.

"I don't think the story you told us when you got expelled was true."

"I don't understand." Everything snaps back into focus, too clear and sharp, colors too bright. It looks fragile, as if the room, the table, the food, his parents, are all cut from glass. "I told you the truth."

His mom moves her hand to his arm, squeezing it lightly. "Really? You two were just messing around? There's no chance that..." She lets go, lacing her fingers together under her chin. "Maybe you thought you were roughhousing and didn't realize you were hurting him? Maybe you thought saying you'd kill him was a joke, but he didn't take it that way?"

"Helen," his dad says, and then, "Dave. You knew."

They don't know. They mean the bullying. They don't know anything. "Dad, Christ, I told you what happened. Why are you on me about this again all of a sudden?"

"Because I can't keep pretending, not when you're at stake. It's not healthy to fixate on someone in order to hurt and frighten them. We need to get you professional help."

Professional help. A shrink. "No! Dad, you're overreacting. Okay, I – guess. Things got kind of out of control. I'm not _crazy_."

"Nobody said –"

"But you're thinking it, why else would you even – Christ." Dave wads up his napkin in his lap. "Okay. I was scared. I lied."

His mom puts her forehead against the heels of her palms, staring down at her plate. "What exactly did you lie about, David?"

"I – I did know. I knew it was freaking him out." He smoothes the napkin out in his lap, then starts twisting it. "You guys don't get what it's like at school. The teams – it's brutal, okay? You either fit in or your entire life sucks. I was that guy in middle school and I'm not… It's not a big deal usually. Hummel just took it wrong."

"So you've been doing this a lot, bullying kids," his dad says, "and Kurt was the first one to report it."

"That's not what I meant. It's a thing. Because he's –" he looks at the napkin. "He's the only gay guy at school. He creeps people out. The football team dared Hudson to throw a slushy in his face last year and Puckerman used to get some guys together and throw him in the dumpster. I never – I knew I scared him, but I didn't hurt him. I just got freaked out and tried to make him not tell. It's not a big deal for anybody else. I know it's bad but it's normal at McKinley, I just… I fit in. I don't want to not fit in."

"Hudson?" His mom looks up finally. "Didn't his mother –"

"Yes," says Paul.

"The Hummel boy is living with someone who threw a drink in his face on a dare?" She looks at Dave. She's crying. Shit, she's crying. "We're pulling you. You're going somewhere else."

"Helen."

She stands up. "This is – Paul. Listen to this. David's been – oh my God. This is all down to environment, we both know we have a good kid, he wouldn't just do this for fun. You threatened to _kill_ him," she snaps, suddenly, at Dave, and then turns on her husband again. "I told you. I told you, those friends of his…"

"Mom. I stopped, though, I stopped. I'm sorry, I stopped." He looks at his dad. "I haven't bothered Kurt in weeks, come on. I _can't_ leave McKinley."

"Go to your room," Paul says. "We're going to have to talk this over." He pats Dave's shoulder on his way by. "Thank you for telling the truth," he says, and looks tired.

* * *

_I can't do this_, Kurt realizes Tuesday morning. He's been so focused on getting by one date at a time with Karofsky, with bartering for slices of time, that he hadn't looked at the big picture. He's been thinking of next Sunday and the one after and how he's going to hide his reactions from Blaine and his dad.

But he wakes up Tuesday morning to a ridiculous text from Blaine (_Good morning, starshine! The earth says hello. /not in a creepy Johnny Depp way_) and thinks, _I do not foresee breaking up with this person._ Which is when he realizes he can't do the Karofsky thing anymore, because cheating on your boyfriend week by week is one thing, a logistics thing, but doing it all through high school? Not happening. He won't be able to make it.

He remembers on the way to school that this decision isn't going to enforce itself. He's going to have to, for lack of a better term, break up with Karofsky. _Oh, right. That thing I can't do._ Because of his sanity, because of his family, because he needs stability at school in order to date Blaine, because Karofsky doesn't have anyone besides him. But the other option is, increasingly, looking just as impossible. He can't imagine this time next year still featuring him dating Blaine most of the week and Karofsky Sunday nights, keeping Karofsky a secret and trying to keep him this side of psychopathic. He wants to help, too, but it's hardly going to happen inside of a school year.

By the time he pulls into the parking lot, he's back at square one, and square one has gotten even more uncomfortable.

He hurries to Coach Sylvester's office. The tailor she keeps on staff for the Cheerios is done with him just in time for him to rush to his locker and get his books without being late for first period, barring any incidents. He's almost to the point where, while he's not stupid enough to not be on the lookout, he doesn't actually expect incidents any longer. Unfortunately, there is one.

He thinks at first that the envelope is something he left there himself, and scoops it into his bag in case it's a reminder of a project or paper; he does scribble on odd things at times, and maybe an envelope was what was available at some crucial assignment-giving moment. Since his first class is math and he already knows all the answers ("I have no idea"), he props his book open and examines the envelope. It's sealed. The only thing written on it is his name, in a scrawl he doesn't recognize.

His stomach starts to churn, and he shoves the envelope back into his bag.

He opens the thing once he's back at his locker, leaning over it so that no one sees. There's a note inside; it's heavy, expensive paper, although the envelope is a standard office affair. It says, _It made me think of you. Last one until I get another excuse though, promise._ Sliding around in the bottom of the envelope is a necklace. He recognizes it from Forever 21, a tiny silver bowtie.

He slams the locker and heads for the restroom. He makes it halfway there before Sue Sylvester, flanked by Becky, plants herself in his way and says, "I'm going to stop you right there."

"Coach," he says. "Right now?"

"What'd he do?"

"What?"

"Don't waste my time, Porcelain; they say that time is money, but they mostly mean Sue Sylvester's time. There's only one thing on this earth that makes your face turn such singularly unattractive colors. It's blotchy and I won't have it on my squad." Becky, in case he doubts Sue Sylvester's word, nods to confirm his blotchiness.

"He didn't do anything," Kurt says hopelessly, because if there is one thing he cannot tell Coach Sylvester, it's that Karofsky broke into his locker to leave him a perfectly nice note and a gift and it's scared him half to death.

"Either you've got something to tell me that means I can help, or you're firing with waterworks, in which case I'll be turning you over to someone who can dry your tears with his mountainous range of curls and candyfloss excuse for a heart."

"I guess it's the latter."

"Fine. Becky!" She makes a gesture in Kurt's direction and retreats, leaving her lieutenant to escort him.

"Let's go," Becky directs, and grabs his shoulder, which is something of a stretch.

* * *

Kurt shouldn't have challenged the universe by thinking that today couldn't get any worse, but it really is sucking. His dad is still angry, he has no idea how to read Carole's relative upset, the sneak locker attack has shaken him up, he's gotten the disappointed-you-can't-give-us-anything-to-go-on looks from Coach Sylvester and Mr. Schuester, and he in case he was feeling at all manly or capable he has a part-time bodyguard whose head is level with his elbows and is a girl. He thought at some point _Well, at least it can't get worse._

He thinks now that it's probably his fault that Karofsky is plainly in a bad mood and has just jerked his head at their favorite empty-for-fifth-period classroom.

He's been doing so much better. He still flinches, he's still scared, but until today he'd mostly built up sort of a wall in his head and convinced himself that he's safe in school, relatively speaking; that if he was scared, at least it wasn't for a real reason. Because even the remainders of the bullying are… just things he's used to. Without the sexual edge Karofsky's bullying had taken on, without the death threat hanging over his head, he could get over a few pushes or slushies. Channeling the… dating issue… into Sunday nights made him feel safer here. And now – now Karofsky can get into his private things and leave little tokens, the kind of thing you leave for someone you expect dating things from, _at school_. This isn't Sunday and he's not ready and it's not okay, he can't handle it.

He still follows Karofsky into the classroom.

"God _fucking_ damn it," Karofsky says as soon as he gets the door closed.

Kurt edges away. "What's wrong?"

"Everything. I had – everything was going _fine_ and now –" He presses his hands against his head like he has a headache. "My dad's fucking pissed and my mom starts crying whenever she looks at me –"

Kurt takes deep breaths. Karofsky's mad, but it's not at _him_. He can be supportive here, it doesn't have to be about dating. He steps back in and puts a hand on Karofsky's elbow. When Karofsky doesn't hit him or grab him, he tightens his hold. "Okay, it's going to be fine. Tell me what happened."

"Mom wants to pull me out of school. I don't even know what happened, they just – decided they didn't believe me anymore about what went down when I got expelled." He shakes his head. "So I told them something else, and now – I don't know, babe, they're all…" He drops his arms, jostling Kurt's hand away. "I need a favor."

Kurt grabs the strap of his bag. "What is it?"

"I spent like two hours convincing my dad not to pull me out right away – I can't leave this school, Kurt, I can't, everything's here, my teams, you, my friends. Anyway now he says I have to make it right with you, and then he'll talk my mom out of it too. He doesn't know I already – crap. This is so messed up. Look, I need you to come have dinner at my house. With my parents. And like your family if you want, you're all invited. So I can formally apologize and shit."

Kurt stares slack-jawed for a second. "You want to have my family over to eat with your family. You and I would be at the table. With my dad."

"I know it's crazy as fuck, but I have to apologize to you in front of them. My mom is calling your house this weekend."

"But you and I – how are we supposed to act?"

"New middle ground? Shit. I don't know. I can't –"

Karofsky looks two seconds from a complete nervous breakdown, and Kurt backpeddles wildly. "Relax, Dave. We can handle this," he says, and thinks, _We can't._

"Really?" Karofsky snaps. "Because I'm coming up blank on how. They're going to know, they're going to –"

Kurt holds his hands up, placating. "Well, I don't know how yet, I'm just saying. We can do this. I promise. They're not going to know." God, if his dad found out. The way he'd look at Kurt…

Karofsky finally meets his eyes. "Yeah?" He sounds hopeful this time.

"We can handle this," Kurt insists.

"You can, maybe." Karofsky shakes his head. He pulls a chair out and sinks into it. "I almost had it together, I was almost back to normal. I don't know. If they don't let _up_ –" He takes Kurt's hand. "I'm glad," he says, and coughs, and continues, "I'm glad I have you. I know this is a mess right now, but I don't know what I'd do if…"

Kurt squeezes his hand. "You have got me," he says weakly. "Don't worry about what-if."

Karofsky's rubbing his forehead again with his free hand. "We can come up with a story to explain how we are at school and figure out how to act around each other. Okay. Sure. Then – they'll lay off. They have to." He looks up at Kurt. "I can't leave, Kurt, I can't, you're the most – I can't."

"Okay, Dave, calm down." He's shaking his head, and Kurt tentatively puts a hand on his cheek to stop him, not sure that'll be welcome in school. Karofsky doesn't seem to mind. He does stop the shaking. "It's just dinner. If my dad even agrees to it. Let's say he does; it's one more story. I've been making up new ones all week." He grimaces. "My alibi for Sunday nights fell through and I had to come up with a better one. My dad is furious and I'm grounded."

"What? What about this Sunday?"

"Oh, no, he thinks I have Cheerios practice. I'm allowed out for that. I'll see you at six."

"Good, right." Karofsky squints. "Wait, you're back on the Cheerios?"

"I had to say yes in order to get a new alibi. I said I was spending time with Blaine, but my dad's going to meet him soon and he'll ask him about Sunday nights, so I had to confess. Dad hasn't been this furious with me in – a long time."

Karofsky's jaw tightens. "Huh." Belatedly, he adds, "Sorry about all this. I was trying to fix it and it's all getting so screwed up…"

"No, it's okay. We'll straighten it out. We can handle our parents." He squeezes Karofsky's shoulder and backs off a step. "I should really get to study hall, though, I'm afraid Mr. Schuester's going to check on me. Call me tonight, okay? Sometime after nine. We can figure out what to do."

Karofsky stands up, looming again. God, he's huge. And he's glancing down, suddenly shy. "Hey, did you find the… thing?"

Kurt puts a hand in his bag, heart rate jumping. "Yes, I – I did find the necklace. Dave, it's beautiful, and it was sweet of you to think of me. Thank you." He swallows and closes his eyes, trying to figure out how to tell someone who hadn't thought of this on his own that breaking into someone else's locker is wrong. "Maybe," he starts, and then there are huge hands on his shoulders and lips covering his. "Hmm," he protests, jerking. Karofsky's too fast; by the time it occurs to him to turn his head there's a hand in his hair, and he could try to step away but the other hand slides to his waist and that's all it takes. Karofsky doesn't seem even to notice that he's trying to push him away and he's not ready and it isn't Sunday and he _can't move_.

"Stop," he says when Karofsky pauses for air, "stop, this isn't in the deal."

"Right." Karofsky folds his arms around Kurt. "Sorry, in school and shit, you're right. I'm just – sometimes I can't believe you're here."

Kurt puts his head on Karofsky's shoulder to hide his face, and hopefully put it out of kissing range, since it's obvious he isn't going anywhere until the boy lets go. If he ignores the claustrophobia of it, it's almost perversely comforting to be held, after that. "I really have to get to study hall," he says into the letterman's jacket.

"Sure." Karofsky pulls him closer for a second, then steps away. "I'll call tonight, like you said."

"Yes. You do that," Kurt says, and leaves. He looks back when he pauses in the doorway to check for anyone looking his way; Karofsky seems a lot less intimidating from over here. He looks lost and scared and he's got his head in his hands again. But if Kurt walks back over there, into range – He goes to study hall.

* * *

By Sunday evening, they're fairly certain their parents have contacted each other, but neither one of them has been actually been informed about the situation or any plans. There are a lot of significant looks and conversations that break off when they walk into a room, but no one's told them anything.

Dave thinks he might legit just go fucking insane, but at least his parents have laid off the therapy and being-pulled-out-of-school talk lately. It's just that they're back to tiptoeing around him like he's a bomb and he was on his way back, he really was. The threat of having his life torn apart again is rubbing him raw. He'd be beating people up in hockey and benched for the games again if it weren't for Kurt. Putting the parental-approved version of their story together for their parents means they've had to talk a few times this week, and being part of a team with Kurt – working together with him on something – is soothing, makes him think this could turn out alright. He sometimes stays up late poking holes in their story just to have a reason to call Kurt again, even though the holes are farfetched and Kurt insists that they need to keep it simple.

He had Kurt pick the movie for this week, too, just in case. It's some musical with lots of sparkles and some guns on the cover; he could care less about it, but it's not like he has to watch when he's got Kurt to look at.

It's sleeting pretty bad when Kurt gets there, ten minutes late, holding a heavy-duty black umbrella, and shivering. Dave hurries him inside and closes the door behind him. "Christ," he says. "Maybe I should have cancelled. It's getting bad out there." He couldn't have, really. He was afraid his parents weren't going to go out this Sunday, that he wouldn't be able to see Kurt properly for two weeks. The thought made him itchy with impatience and worse, a claustrophobic, panicky feeling, like he couldn't make it that long. When he realized they were going out (he couldn't ask them, not with everything else going on, and not when he was so afraid of the answer), he could almost forget that everything else was screwed up – as long as he got to see Kurt.

"Oh, God," Kurt says. "For the weather? Please, remember I'm supposed to be with Sue Sylvester right now. I think 'Dad, I don't have to go because there's a storm' might actually destroy my whole story. Coach Sylvester will probably make us practice on the field in worse than this," he adds, peering out the narrow window set beside the door.

"You okay?" Dave slings an arm around his shoulders to walk him to the living room, trying to warm him up some on the way. "You look tense."

"No, no, I'm fine," Kurt says, voice high even for him. They hit the living room doorway. Kurt tries to stop and ends up stumbling in, since Dave was still walking. He holds tighter to keep Kurt from actually falling. "Dave," Kurt says, "I think we have to talk."

"Sure. What's up?"

Kurt steps out from under his arm and turns to face him. "I want to wait." His voice is shaking a little. "It's still only three weeks today and I'm not ready to move on yet, so I'm allowed to say. I can't make out with you yet. We can next week, alright?" He bounces a little on his toes, jumpy and nervous and pale.

Dave feels awful. "Kurt, yeah, whatever. It's not that big a deal." He shifts uncomfortably. "Sometimes I forget I'm your first boyfriend, and you're hot, so yeah I want to do stuff, but it's not like – you don't have to look like that just because you want some more time."

"I'm not… messing up your plans?" Kurt asks stiffly, glancing over at the setup for dinner and the movie.

Dave laughs, sudden and explosive, and Kurt flinches. "Sorry, I didn't realize. Is that what this is about? I didn't think about how it looks." He'd shoved the couches back to make room and thrown some blankets and unzipped sleeping bags on the floor to make somewhere comfortable to lie down and yeah, it's pretty much like a bed and probably looks like way too much pressure for someone as inexperienced as Kurt. "That's not what this is about, babe. Come on, take off your shoes, I'll show you. I got sushi."

He sets them up with plates and puts the DVD in. A skinny blonde chick dances around for a while and shoots some dude, and Kurt slowly relaxes against Dave's side. They're on the floor but sitting up, leaning against the couch for now. Dave plays with Kurt's hair to pass the time, listening to him hum along to the songs, and relishes the weight and warmth of him.

When Kurt, who is a really slow eater, finishes his sushi, Dave says, "I want to do you a favor. Would you lie down on your stomach?"

Kurt fumbles with the unfamiliar remote for a second, but manages to pause the movie. He shifts around to sit facing Dave, straight-backed and tense. "What?"

"I just – I've been real tense ever since my parents started flipping on me again. All week. I um, I don't know what I woulda done if I didn't have you to chill me out. And I figured with your dad, you're probably real on edge too, so I wanted to return the favor. Help you relax."

Kurt smiles for the first time so far, which is good, but it's small and dies quickly. Christ, he's pale. "That's very nice of you, and I'm all for it in theory, but where does me lying down come into it?"

He chuckles. "You serious?"

"Deadly."

"Right, you don't do sports," Dave remembers. "Massage, dude. They're lifesavers."

"_Oh_," Kurt says with a surprised laugh. "Oh, my God. A massage. That's nice. You really don't have to, though, I'm fine. That, and I'm afraid I might fall asleep if I get too comfortable."

"That's what I mean. You're all worn out." He pats the blankets. "Lie down. You're allowed to fall asleep, I won't be offended or nothing."

"Oh. Okay. Um… okay." With a few false starts, Kurt lies down and puts his head in his folded arms, turned so he can watch the movie.

Dave hits play and smoothes Kurt's shirt down – or shirts; this'd be easier if the guy didn't wear three layers at a time, but he doesn't want to make him nervous by asking him to take any off. "Let me know if I press too hard." He sets his thumbs into Kurt's shoulders just below his neck and starts rubbing. "Christ, babe, you've got wicked bad knots." He's also wearing one of the necklaces, Dave realizes when he brushes the latch. _Hot._

"Maybe I should do you," Kurt offers. "You're the one with tension headaches, from what I've seen. If I have knots, I can only imagine the damage you must be doing to yourself."

"Naw, it's cool." He moves down a little and brings his other fingers into play. "Anyway I know how to do this because of the team. You probably don't get it much." One of Kurt's layers is sort of slippery, skidding under his hands. He can feel the taught slabs of the muscles in Kurt's shoulders, and way more bone than is natural – shoulder blades, the knobs of his spine, the arch of his ribs. When he curls the fingers of both hands around the edge of Kurt's waist, his thumbs cross over the boy's spine, he's that tiny.

He keeps it up, reminding himself every so often to go gently since Kurt's not built like a linebacker. His mom does this for him a lot, and he's always telling her to go harder, but if he goes hard he's afraid he'll break Kurt. This is an awkward angle, so he swings a leg over Kurt and straddles him, settling on his thighs.

"Uh," Kurt says, getting up on an elbow and twisting to look up at him.

"Am I too heavy?" Dave does his best to ignore Kurt's thigh, which is brushing against his crotch because of the twisting.

"No, it's… not that. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Yeah, it's easier from here. Lie back down, Hummel." He leans over and braces himself on a hand to kiss Kurt's cheek. He smells sort of minty, and Dave thinks absently he should ask what aftershave he uses.

"Okay," Kurt whispers.

Kurt's always on edge, Dave thinks a half an hour later, when he's finally getting to an honestly relaxed version of him. He's even worse when Dave's actually touching him, since he's still nervous around Dave and has a sexual experience of zilch. And now – this is the best feeling. Kurt's eyes are at half-mast, his face slack and calm. His body is loose and compliant under Dave's hands. He's totally okay. This is progress.

Normally massages do not, in Dave's experience, last two hours, but he's got Kurt fine with Dave on top of him and touching every bit of him that's available, so he's sure as hell not changing anything before he has to.

But eventually the blonde chick and some brunette shoot at a bunch of lights for no reason he can see and the movie ends, at which point he gets up and puts the DVD away. When he turns back around, Kurt's rolled over onto his side and is propped on an elbow again. "That was incredible," he says. "I don't think I can move now."

"You don't have to." Dave grins and bends over to pick him up.

"Ohmigod," Kurt says in one word, flinging his arms around Dave's neck. "Relaxation gone."

"It's cool, babe." Dave collapses onto the couch, landing with Kurt in his lap, and winces when Kurt yelps at a pitch not meant for human ears.

Kurt then coughs and manages to cross his legs while sitting sideways on Dave's lap, which as adorable things go is pretty fucking adorable, and tugs the bowtie necklace out from under his shirt. "Dave," he says. "We really have to talk about this."

"Yeah, we do." The contented feeling bursts. "I was putting it in your locker and – you still have that picture up."

"I actually wanted to talk about the first part of that sentence," Kurt ploughs on. "The necklace is, again, _really_ sweet. But you can't break into my locker."

"What? Why? Oh – no, I didn't poke through your stuff. I just left the envelope. I couldn't give it to you direct, so I left it in your locker. I thought it'd be a nice surprise."

"It was very polite and respectful of you not to poke through my stuff. I need you to extend that politeness and respectfulness to… not breaking into anything of mine that is locked. That's the point of locking things."

Dave shrugs – a locker isn't that private, the faculty checks them all the time, and everyone can see in whenever you open it to get books – but says, "Okay, sure, no more break-ins."

Kurt sighs and raises his eyebrows. "That'll have to suffice. Alright, what picture do I still have in my locker that you should never have seen but did and now need an explanation for?"

"Prep Boy."

Kurt frowns, and then blanches. "Blaine? I don't – yes, I have a picture of him. He's, he's my friend. I have pictures of several of them in there." He pulls in closer to himself, knees up and arms crossed.

"Right." That's more than enough for Dave. "That kind of friend."

"No, listen –"

"The kind of friends you were with Hudson last year."

"Let's both just stay calm here, please."

"I'm not mad," Dave says. That's not totally true, but he can feel Kurt's back bunching up again against his arm. "Whatever. People… feel things. You're with me. That's all I care about."

"Really? You're not upset?"

He feels better about lying. Kurt sounds so small and uncertain, and it sits wrong on him. "Not my favorite idea ever, but we'll survive."

"Oh, good. Good."

"It is, though," Dave says. "Me. That you're with."

Kurt smiles, beautifully, and kisses him.

Dave kisses him back, hard. He stands up long enough to lay Kurt down on the blankets again and follow him down, fingers digging into Kurt's hips. He convinces himself that what they do for the next fifteen minutes isn't making out; it's cuddling and kissing, coincidentally at the same time. He can't stop, needs to convince himself that Kurt's there for him, with him. Whoever's in his locker, it's Dave who has his hands under two of his ever-present layers, who gets to feel his legs writhe under him, who can kiss across his jaw and down his neck to hollow at the base of his throat. Fuck Prep Boy, he doesn't matter. And while Kurt's hands are fisted in his shirt and he's making little noises under him, Dave really believes that.

* * *

Kurt drops his keys on the floor of the car twice before he manages to start it. He pulls over halfway home and waits to stop shaking and tearing up before he finishes the drive.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you guys for the reviews! They mean the world to me and they keep me going!

* * *

The funny thing about trust, Kurt has decided, is that its behavioral manifestations are not unlike those of simple acceptance. He thinks he's figured out why it was that he was fine getting into the car with Karofsky, and he knows perfectly well why he was fine lying down with the other boy on top of him for the better part of two hours, because that was when the idea crystallized for him.

There is no point in worrying about Karofsky hurting him _while he's with Karofsky_. Karofsky is bigger, faster, and more willing to do damage. Once Kurt's with him, and especially once they're inside Karofsky's house, there is no point. If he's going to worry about his safety, the time to do it is when he's away. He can panic about it all he wants then, or more constructively, come up with ways to not be alone with the boy. But once he's with Karofsky, worrying is going to accomplish exactly nothing, and playing pretend is going to accomplish less. It gives him a sad, pathetic illusion of control to not be physically under Karofsky, but when it comes down to it, if he can be calm sitting next to the guy, why not under him? He has the same amount of control either way. If Karofsky wants to go somewhere in the car, they are going to end up going somewhere in the car; if Karofsky wants to sit on top of him and give him a massage, well, guess what's going to end up happening. And if Karofsky wants to make out with him –

He'd tried twice to ask Karofsky to at least wait, to give him a minute. Both times he'd been kissed silent before he could get a word out, so it wasn't… he'd never said no.

He's cheating on Karofsky. He'd convinced himself it didn't count right up until he lied about it. If it wasn't cheating, though, he wouldn't have lied, wouldn't have said that Blaine was a friend. "Yes, I do have his picture in my locker. Beyond our mutually beneficial business arrangement, I have of late acquired my very own boyfriend, a goal you too should strive to achieve," would that have been so hard to say? But he'd lied, and he'd _made _it cheating, and now he's cheating on both of them.

We'll survive, Karofsky had said. Maybe he hadn't meant it that way. But he'd said it. _We'll survive_ – as long as the one Kurt was with was Karofsky. And there's nothing wrong with making out with the one you're _with._

He'd given up after the second try and tried to be with Karofsky, tried to fake some kind of enjoyment, and it was ridiculous because he shouldn't have had to fake anything. He's seventeen, he was being kissed and felt up by a guy who is, if rough around the edges, certainly very physically attractive; a guy who'd just spent more than a month being the perfect boyfriend, within their Sunday night time limit. If he'd gotten there any way other than years of merciless torment and fear and then a creepy deal scribbled on a piece of paper stowed in his desk drawer…

But instead everything about Dave Karofsky makes him want to run away.

His hands under Kurt's shirt felt invasive and bruising, and he kept wanting to flinch away from the lips on his mouth and neck. He'd tried to display some interest in the proceedings by groping back and hadn't know what to do with his hands and couldn't get them past Karofsky's arms, and just ended up grabbing his shoulders and trying not to shove him away because if he honestly tried and it didn't work… And he couldn't kiss back either, because Karofsky kept moving, switching from his mouth to his jaw to his neck, so he'd tried to make appreciative noises and waited for it to stop and hoped it wouldn't go further.

It's ten-thirty p.m. and he's standing in the center of his bedroom with the lights out, hands twisting in the hem of his shirt, for ten minutes before he realizes that this is not normal behavior.

He changes quickly into his pajamas and a sweatshirt. He almost calls Mercedes three times, but she's not with him and he wants someone who's actually there, and worse, she won't let it go when she realizes that something's wrong. She's too sharp and too much of a gossipmonger for that – both things he appreciates and can entirely relate to, but not what he needs at the moment.

He knocks on Finn's bedroom door instead, because Finn is many things, but _sharp _isn't the first that comes to mind.

"Yeah?" Finn sounds distracted, which probably means he's playing a video game.

"Hi." Kurt sticks his head around the door. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," Finn says, eyes glued to the screen.

Kurt slips in and closes the door behind him. Finn's in a chair, so Kurt takes the bed.

"What's up?"

"Nothing, I just wanted company." He flops down on his front, resting his chin on his arms. "Can I watch your game?"

"Oh, yeah, if you want." Finn scores another hit on the soldiers he's firing at. "How was Cheerios practice?"

"It was fine. Are you supposed to be blowing people up like that?"

"Yeah, it's part of the game." Finn glances over at him and laughs. "Want to try?"

"No, I'll ruin your score or fail your mission or something. I have no hand-eye coordination."

"It's okay, I do that whenever I'm tired out." He pauses the game and hands the controller over, and spends a few minutes explaining the basic concept of the game and which buttons save you from the bad men.

Kurt does fail in his game mission, and doesn't really enjoy the game exactly, but it's nice to do something that takes up all his attention and is simultaneously mindless. Finn stays with him and seems to find the monotonous killing onscreen as entertaining as a movie would be. And Kurt succeeds in his actual mission, which was to not have to be alone until bedtime and avoid bringing his dad into it. When Finn finally starts nodding off in his chair, Kurt staggers right to bed, too exhausted even to dream.

The best thing that happens that week comes on Tuesday night, when Blaine Skypes him and, when he answers, mimes a high-five. "Success!" he announces.

Kurt laughs and tries to arrange his laptop so that the angle on his webcam isn't entirely unflattering. "Congratulations. Success with what?"

"Our date." Blaine leans forward and starts typing. "Go… to… your… yes! It's sent. Go to your email, I sent you a download link. I realize this is very illegal, but I figure it's about the same as it would be if I just came over and watched it with you. I did pay for the DVD."

"What DVD?" Kurt asks, but indulges him by opening his email and starting the download.

"_Chicago._This is all part of the plan."

"Wh-what?" He can _feel _Karofsky's hands on him. When the movie had been on "Razzle Dazzle" one had been on the back of his neck and one had been kneading his lower back and he'd been picturing Blaine singing the lead, that was why he'd rented the movie, he'd thought it would help keep him calm.

"I thought it would be a gesture of trust, with our competing teams and everything. Do you not want to watch that one? I can have David whip us up something else…"

"No, no, this is perfect. I think. What exactly am I doing with this pirated material?"

"Okay," Blaine says excitedly, "so here's my crazy idea. Since I'm still not allowed to come over, and you can't come here, this is my long-distance date. I've got candles, you've got candles. We light them, we both watch _Chicago_ at the same time on our respective laptops, and we keep Skype open for a running commentary and sing-along. Is that completely lame?"

"No." Kurt beams. "No, that sounds perfect." He turns his smile deliberately mischievous. "I get a preview of your possible tactics and the vocals all in one night. You spoil me."

"My life is in your hands," Blaine says. "Seriously. I think Wes might sneak into my room and kill me if he finds out I did this. And, on the downside, I won't get to hold your hand or play coy when you try to kiss me goodnight."

"Oh, thinking of letting me on the first date, are you? You sly thing."

"What can I say? I'm a rebel."

* * *

At the end of their date, Blaine _blows him a kiss _through Skype and insists that he catch it. Kurt may or may not giggle like a fourteen-year-old girl after he hangs up.

* * *

Kurt is too blissful, following this date, to worry about anything at all. He thinks that mood swings that go this far apart this quickly might not be healthy, but he's perfectly willing to take happiness while he can get it and damn the consequences. This is, he decides on Wednesday evening, a winning strategy, because the happiness is fleeting.

His dad comes into his room while he's on the phone with Blaine; Kurt promises to call back so that they can finish the discussion of the societal implications of Vogue's online presence further and hangs up. Burt sinks down on the side of the bed.

"We need to talk," he says.

"About the Cheerios?"

"No. I got an interesting call last week from Paul Karofsky."

"Really. That's, that's odd. Karofsky hasn't bothered me in over a month."

"That true, buddy?"

"Yes. God, Dad. Yes. I know sometimes I didn't tell you things but I don't lie, not… not apart from that one time."

"Okay. Well, Finn says the same thing." He sighs. "The Karofskys invited us over for dinner, as a family. Paul wants his kid to apologize to you in front of all of us. I got to tell you, Kurt, I don't see what it'll help, but Paul's real anxious to try and make his boy think about what he's done."

Kurt leans back against his headboard, feigning thought; mostly he was just remembering. They'd planned for this. "I'm not ready to forgive him."

"_No_," his dad says. "I don't want you to be. I'm not even asking you to go to the dinner. I'm just askin' what you think about it."

"Well… What does Finn think?"

"I'm asking you first."

"I'm not… entirely opposed to the idea," Kurt allows. "I do like being acknowledged as the party who was in the right the whole time. I guess… as long as you were there. I don't want to be alone with him, is all." He sighs. "Could I talk to Finn about it first? We're in this one together. He's there every day, you know? And Karofsky and Azimio did bully him, too."

His dad's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, yeah?"

"They hassled him, yeah, I thought… I thought he talked to Carole about it?"

"Well, I'm sure going to." He pats Kurt's shoulder. "Talk to Finn if you need to."

"Sure. I'll do that now."

* * *

Dave is realizing that he has no one to talk to about Kurt. He never really needed anyone to talk to about his girlfriends – actually, he kind of needed them so he'd have something to talk about. When he did need advice he'd gone to Azimio or one of the guys, nodded along to what they said, and then gone to his mom or dad and followed their advice. But there's no one to talk to about Kurt, about the one partner that _matters_, the one he can't afford to lose. Even if he used female pronouns, there's no one he could ask this. _"If your boyfriend says he doesn't want to make out, but then you make out with him later and he seems totally into it but you have a bad feeling, is that not good?" _Yeah, that'd go over real well with his dad.

He should have asked. Kurt said he wasn't ready, but he was or he wouldn't have kissed back, just – Dave should have asked first.

It's cool. It's okay. It was _fine_, Kurt was down with it. But he knows what his dad would say. Not asking was disrespectful. It's cool because Dave is going to make it cool. He's going to make it up to Kurt. He just… has to figure out how.

* * *

Finn can hold a grudge. He is, technically, capable of it. But it doesn't come to him naturally and it's easy to convince him to let it slide. Generally. Kurt is hoping this holds true right now.

"Finn, I need to talk to you," he announces.

"Oh, thank God," Finn says, dropping his homework. "I mean okay. What's up?"

"Have you heard that the Karofskys invited us over for dinner?"

Finn's brow wrinkles. "What?"

"The Karofsky family wants all of us to come over and have dinner with them so that Dave can apologize to me, formally and in front of witnesses. I admit I'd be more impressed with an apology in front of the football team, preferably on bended knee, but… I wanted to run this by you, since Karofsky was pretty focused on you last year. You know, get your opinion."

"Huh. His parents must be a lot nicer than him. I bet they're really pissed." Finn frowns. "But I don't know, dude, they hassled me up until a few weeks ago, but they never threatened to kill me or anything. It's your call."

"You don't think it's silly of me to accept?"

"You're going to do it?"

Kurt shrugs. "I was thinking about it. I mean, what do I stand to gain by saying no? He'll just get mad if I show him up in front of his parents. Maybe he'll say he's sorry and mean it. It can happen – look at you, and even Puck. Sort of."

Finn looks sickened. "Yeah, but… I never… I mean, I didn't… I never made you cry. You didn't almost switch schools because of me."

"Well, it wasn't a picnic, either," Kurt snaps, and he's making himself sick now, because in a lot of ways Finn deserves this, but not… not to be compared to Karofsky. "Finn, I'm sorry. No, you never made me cry." That isn't even true, but you catch more flies with honey and all that. "I just really want you on my side on this. It's not easy, but I think turning him down would be harder."

Finn, charmingly and predictably, and oh God Kurt just did that on purpose by hurting him, nods. "Yeah, yeah, absolutely, dude, whatever you want. If that's what you think you should do. I'm there."

"Thanks, Finn," Kurt says, and smiles. Now he has the side of the story people will hear at school pretty well covered, at least. He just has to get through the dinner, then. Get through it and help Karofsky convince their respective parents that everything's fine even though it's not. This is such a bad idea.

* * *

The next day, he can't follow Karofsky into their classroom when he gets the chin-jerk, because he's flanked by Quinn and Santana due to their Cheerios practice. He just hopes Karofsky noticed his pointed look past their glares. He pulls over on the way home from school and calls him to alleviate the churning in his stomach.

Karofsky doesn't answer, but does call back a second later. "Hey, Kurt," he says breathlessly.

"Dave. I'm so sorry about earlier, I couldn't get away."

"Yeah, whatever, you were with Fabray." Well, he doesn't sound mad. "I wanted to ask if we could change our plans. For Sunday."

"What?" Kurt was expecting something about their parents, about the dinner, about the Dave-is-cool-now-but-not-too-cool story they had to keep straight. "Oh, um, okay. You know what, strangely enough, so did I."

"Really? You first."

"No, maybe –"

"Go ahead, Kurt."

"Oh. Okay, sure. Maybe this isn't even a change, I don't know what you have planned. But I've been doing some thinking."

This is true. In between his various meltdowns of the week, he has done some thinking about their dates, and he's realized, thanks to the _Chicago_ fiasco, that they're doing the wrong things on these dates. Well, sort of. It is good that Karofsky is making an effort to accommodate Kurt, of course; the capability to think about what others want is something one wants in one's sexual harasser, and it will serve Karofsky well in the future, if Kurt is his type. The problem is that, in this particular instance, Kurt is supposed to be helping Karofsky, and he can't do that very effectively if all he knows about what the boy likes is a vague sort of "contact sports, throwing slushies competitively" list. He really has to start returning the favor.

"You've been very sweet and considerate about – well, our dates. _Peter Pan_, _Chicago_, the food. I really appreciate it. I was just wondering if maybe, this week, we could do something you like. A movie you love, or… I don't know, something you like to do, I can't even name anything. I want to see you in your element this time. Or… some time. It doesn't have to be this week."

"Really?" Karofsky sounds inordinately pleased. Oops. Maybe he should have asked this before.

Or maybe it was a mistake to ask it now.

"Yeah, we can do that. Uh…" Karofsky laughs, suddenly. "I've got a kick-ass idea, actually."

"Great! Great. So what did you want to ask me?"

"Oh, uh, if you could come early – like at four? I guess it's still relevant."

"Damn. I can try? I can tell my dad that Coach Sylvester moved the time, but unless he buys that, I'm screwed. I'm still grounded. Do you want me to try?"

"Huh." Karofsky turns this over for a few seconds. "…No. You know what, never mind. I got another idea."

"You're on a roll."

"Yeah." He laughs nervously. "Hey, Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"…Have you heard anything from your parents about dinner?"

Kurt sighs. "Yes. I told my dad I'd think about it, and I got Finn on our side. I'll tell him tonight that I think it's a good idea. How are you holding up?"

"I'm cool," Karofsky says, too quickly.

"Good. Well, I'm here if you need to talk. About anything."

"Cool. Thanks. I'll talk to you later," Karofsky says in a rush, and hangs up.

"Well, goodbye to you too," Kurt mutters, tossing his phone over onto the passenger's seat. That isn't like Karofsky, which is a weird thing to think of a boy whose manners used to, in Kurt's experience, consist of flushing the toilet before handing out the swirlies, but it's true lately. At least as regards Kurt. It does suck to be any other loser at school. _Well, he's not sexually harassing them_, Kurt reminds himself. _It sucks, but they'll deal. We all deal, one way or another._

* * *

"Dad?" Kurt poked his head into the dining room, where his dad had spread the bills out on the table and was poking at his calculator.

"Yeah, what's up, kiddo?"

"I think I'd like to do this dinner thing with the Karofskys. Finn doesn't object, and maybe it would cement Dave's new avoidance policy if he knew I could always embarrass him in front of his friends by bringing it up."

"You don't think he's really sorry, though."

Kurt shrugs. "I don't… talk to him at school, or anything. He might be. I doubt it, but maybe he had an epiphany."

"I don't like the idea of you accepting an apology from a kid who doesn't mean it."

"Well, I don't have to accept. Anyway, I don't like the idea of saying no and him throwing a slushy in my face again. We could just try it; everything will be fine as long as you're there." For the first time in his life, that's a complete and total lie; everything would be _fine _if his dad would suddenly decide not to go. Unfortunately that's not going to happen, so he needs to work with what he's got.

"Yeah," his dad says slowly. "I'm sure that's true. Well, I said it was up to you. I'll call them back." He stands up and heads into the kitchen.

Kurt crumples back against the door frame and tugs on his hair.

"Hey, what's wrong, sweetie?" Carole is making her way past him with a basket of laundry.

"Oh, I… nothing. I'll help you fold." He follows her up to his parents' room and starts sorting. "Has Dad said anything to you about when he's planning on letting up with the disappointed face? I know I did something bad, but he's got these eyes…"

She chuckles. "I'm sure he'll get over it soon. He just… he feels like he failed you."

Kurt crumples a pair of Finn's jeans in his hands. "He feels like he failed me? Because I lied to him?"

"No, I…" she studies him for a second. "Sit down, Kurt."

Kurt does, clutching the jeans in earnest now. He isn't even worried that Carole will be mad at him or anything, but there have been one too many intense talks lately. He just wants everything to let up, give him a chance to relax.

Carole sits down next to him. "Your father knows that he can't protect you from most of what you face in a day, and he has a hard time with that. And he knows that you hide everything you can from him in order to spare his feelings, so I think he feels… inadequate. Like you can't even talk to him about these things. But as long as you're just hiding things, he feels like he can meet you halfway, be there when you do come to him. Knowing that you would outright lie to him, Kurt – I know you thought you had a good reason, and I know you're sorry. But it scared him to death, and it made him feel like he wasn't good enough to be there for you. I think it worries him to think what could happen to you without him knowing if you can do more than just take a few changes of clothes to school and hustle them through the laundry when you get back."

"Oh," Kurt says softly.

Carole wraps an arm around him. "Give him time to come around. He'll realize you need him up and functioning, not moping. And it would probably help if you went to him with your problems once in a while. Or to either of us, Kurt. We're here to help, that's our job."

"Yeah, it'll cheer him right up if I ask him how I should deal with kids calling me a fag or throwing slushies at me."

Carole's arm tightens. "How often does that happen?"

"See? That's normal at our school. Everyone gets slushies thrown at them. You guys don't… you can storm down to the school and make a big deal out of it, and the kids will say they tripped and spilled, and Figgins won't be able to do anything. He'll want to but he won't have the budget for it, or something. It's normal for us. I don't see how spreading the hurt around – especially to you guys, when it's so not-normal for you – is going to help."

"It's going to help because we're going to find a way to make it help," Carole says firmly. "And because no matter how awful things are, you should always be able to tell someone."

"I do. I mean, I talk to Mercedes and Tina and Blaine."

"That's good and healthy and I'm glad to hear it, but I meant an adult. Mercedes and Tina are going through the same thing you are, and that makes them good sources of understanding, but it means they don't have quite the perspective an adult does. And Blaine is great, but he's seventeen. You boys don't have to do everything alone, you know."

"I guess," Kurt allows.

"Speaking of Blaine, it hasn't seemed like the ideal moment lately, but… do you still want my help telling your father anything?"

"Oh." Kurt flushes, but grabs her hand and squeezes. "Yes, yes I do – I want to tell him soon. I haven't actually been able to date Blaine, exactly, and I didn't want to tell my dad while he was mad, but as soon as I'm not grounded, I'd like to be able to go out with Blaine without… not mentioning that he's my boyfriend now."

"I'd say that's a step in the right direction," she said, kissing his temple. "Monday evening, maybe? We could have Blaine over for dinner that weekend."

"That sounds great." He looks at their hands. "Carole, I… I'm sorry for what I did…"

"I know, sweetie."

"No, I'm sorry for… before. With Finn. I just, I was lonely, and I'm sorry. But I am glad I introduced you two. I'm… very glad you're married to my dad."

"So am I."

* * *

"David, could you come here?"

Dave sighs, but leaves his homework and heads downstairs. He was almost done with that essay, too. He was on a roll. He's totally blaming his dad if he gets a bad grade on this; his conclusion will be all off now. He tries to memorize at least three of the points he wanted to make so that he'd have something to work with when he got back. "Dad? Where are you?"

"We're in the kitchen," his mother answers.

She sounds tense, and it gets his hackles up. He bets this is going to be bad. "What is it?"

"Burt Hummel just called," his dad says.

Dave's stomach seizes. He really has to get this over with; every time the Hummels come up, he's afraid that this'll be it, that his mom and dad know. "Yeah, what about?"

"We're on for dinner this Saturday," his mom says. "David. You are going to apologize, aren't you?"

It's one of those questions that annoy the crap out of him – of course he's going to apologize, but the way she says it, like she's really asking because he's completely free to choose one way or the other and they won't be mad or disappointed. What she really wants to hear isn't that he'll do it – she knows he will – but that he'll be happy about it, do it enthusiastically and not make her feel bad by sulking or anything.

"Yeah," he mutters. And he would be able to do it the way she wants and make her happy if it weren't for damn Hudson. "I'm going to apologize to him."

"I wonder," his dad says, "if it might be a good idea for you to think about what you're going to say and let us know. I think, David, you have a very serious issue with homophobia, and I don't want you to accidentally say anything to Kurt that would offend him."

This would make him laugh if it weren't happening to him. "Sure, okay. I'll go work on that now."

He stamps up the stairs and swears to himself. This is all fucking Hudson's fault. If it were just going to be him and Kurt and their parents, he could do this all differently. He'd be sincere and charming and, okay, a death threat was a really big deal, he got that, but he could start to really make up for it. His parents would be impressed and maybe – maybe Kurt's would, too. Maybe they'd at least think twice. And then maybe things would be different between him and Kurt, if his parents were a little more okay with Dave. He could keep working on them, he could – hell, he'd offer to mow their lawn or some shit for an excuse to be over and helping and maybe…

But Hudson is going to be there, and everything the oversize lug sees is going straight back to school. So Dave is going to have to half-ass everything, enough to placate his parents but not really please them, and enough to not hurt Kurt's feelings, and enough that Hudson's stories in school don't paint Dave as a total pussy who went bawling to the school fag for forgiveness. Which will be any story about this, as far as Azimio is concerned, but if he seems like normal-Dave enough to Hudson, maybe he won't feel the need to trumpet it around outside his little glee circle.

He calls Kurt. On the thirteenth ring, Kurt picks up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says. "We're seeing you Saturday, huh?"

"Oh, that. Yes, you are. I promise to grab my dad if he tries to shove you into a wall again."

"Christ."

"I was joking. He's not going to touch you. He's really not a violent person, you know, just – just that once."

_I would have too_, Dave thinks. _If I could beat me up for saying that to you, I would. And you love him, of course he'd do anything for you._"I get that," he says instead. "I mean, I get why he did it."

"Oh, Dave. Was that something approaching an _actual_ apology? Be still my heart."

"Whatever, Hummel," he grunts, but he caught the smile in Kurt's voice that time, that was definitely a joke. Too bad, too. If only a real apology were that easy. But things… he had to keep his place, and everything got so confusing. "God, this is all such shit." He has another headache now.

"Relax. This is going to be fine. Take some Tylenol and lie down."

"I can't, I have to draft a semi-asshole apology for my parents to look at and be disappointed in, and then half-ass their edits, and try to come up with something that'll make everyone equally miserable."

"Okay, well, I know this is hard, but work with me here, alright? By the end of the week it will be all over."

It won't, really. It'll just be on the next stage or something. But – "I'll see you on Sunday," he says.

"Yes, you will."

But as long as he has that.

"Fine. I'm gonna go work on this thing, then."

"Good luck."

Dave scoffs. "Yeah, I'm gonna need it."

* * *

Kurt hangs up and stares at his phone. _Well,_ he thinks, _this will be one of the more interesting conversation switches I'll ever have_, and he calls Blaine.

"Kurt," Blaine says immediately on picking up, which Kurt could swear was before the other end even started ringing.

"Hi," he says warmly. "Is this a bad time? I wanted to get this over with, but it can wait, too."

"Get it over with? I am… suddenly not busy. What's wrong?"

Kurt sighs. "One day, I will not call you once a week with horrific drama. You'll be calling me for support when Wes breaks up with his girlfriend and steals David's away and they break up and ask you pick sides. Something like that."

"It's only a matter of time," Blaine laughs. "Really, though, what's wrong?"

"I wanted to give you the heads-up about Saturday night. I won't be able to do anything because I'll be at, get this, the Karofsky household with the rest of my family, having dinner."

"What?"

"His mom called my – called Carole and asked us over so that Karofsky could apologize to me. In front of his parents, and mine, and Finn."

Blaine stays silent for a moment. "I… wow. Is that a good idea, Kurt?"

"Well, I think it's a better idea than not doing it. Why?"

"If he's being forced to apologize to you, especially in front of Finn, do you think he might get… defensive about it in school?"

"Not if we're quiet about it. He's been so much better lately." _I mean, breaking into my locker, having his wicked way with me, but other than that, a whole lot better._ No, that wouldn't go over well.

"Well, you'd know best," Blaine says carefully. "Do you want to do something Saturday during the day? I mean, an internet something."

"I would like that," Kurt says eagerly. "Oh, God. And I'm going to tell my dad about us on Monday – I haven't wanted to push him while I'm grounded, but Carole's going to help me tell him I have a boyfriend." He can feel himself blushing. His heart goes faster saying it out loud. "Do you think you could come over next weekend? For dinner with all of us?"

"Really?" Blaine sounds way more excited than a boyfriend on his way to Meet the Parents has any right to be. "I'd love that. Although I have to say, it's pretty intense for a first real date – combining it with the 'what are your intentions toward my son' talk."

"We could always find a weeknight to preempt it with."

"I could have you over. My dad could give you the talk first. There's probably a prize for beating yours to the punch."

"Only if you let me dress up like a biker and put on some fake tattoos. I want them to know up-front that I'm corrupting you."

"Kurt, you and the crazy outfits. You are doing my attempts to sleep at night a grave disservice."

"I'll say it again, I'm only fighting fire with fire. Until you start wearing real clothes when you come to see me…"

"I wonder how Wes would feel about a rousing chorus of 'I Like a Boy in Uniform' for sectionals."

"That's some kind of sexual bribery."

"If the Jane Addams girls can do it…"

"You're right, I take that back. You should work it."

"And now you know all of our strategy. I should probably just kidnap you at this point, before Wes finds out about this and kills me."

"Well, if your life is at stake…" _This is flirting,_ Kurt thinks, suddenly and a bit dazedly. _With a guy who's flirting back, and not freaked out. And not blackmailing me._

"Do you think your dad _would_ let you have a sleepover at Dalton?"

"Um…"

"Oh, my God, I just realized how that sounded. I didn't mean it like that at all! And… no, probably not, then, because your dad would never believe that that's not how I meant it. Never mind. You do believe I wasn't trying to get you here for nefarious purposes, though, right?"

"I suspect that your purposes had to do with your _Star Trek _obsession, and I would call that nefarious, actually," Kurt says.

"I'm telling you, if you just give it a chance…"

"The day I can hold a meaningful relationship with Artie about any one of his fannish interests is the day I dye my hair bright orange."

"Okay, how about just the new movie? It's glitzy, it looks like it was designed by Apple, and it has conventionally attractive leads in tight clothes."

"…Compromise is healthy in a relationship."

"I love you too."

Kurt was just starting to get over the last blush. "You'd better, if I'm going to watch aliens whose sole alien features are elf ears blowing things up in space."

"Blasphemy!"

"And yet, you love me."

"We're star crossed that way."

* * *

Kurt is used, now, to time shrinking and expanding in odd ways as the weekend approaches, but he's used to trying to put off Sunday evening, not Saturday. It feels like time is cheating him, especially since he's supposed to get through this just in order to have to face Sunday as well.

Cheating or not, it's Saturday evening and the Hudson-Hummels are standing on the Karofskys' stoop. Carole has made brownies for dessert, Kurt got to tell Finn what to wear, and Burt has rung the doorbell. There's no turning back. At least, not without being rude.

Dave opens the door. He's cleaned up nicely, but is sporting his unfortunate high school scowl. It makes him look shifty, Kurt thinks, and reminds himself again not to seem too familiar with the surroundings.

Burt glares. "This better be one hell of an apology," he says.

Karofsky backs off, holding the door open, and says, "Please come in." He doesn't sound particularly inviting, but he doesn't try to respond to Kurt's dad, either, which is probably good.

"Oh, good, you're here," says a woman Kurt assumes is Dave's mother. He wasn't lying, she is extraordinarily tall – she could probably have been a model if she'd cared to, or a basketball player. "I'm Helen Karofsky, and this is my husband, Paul, my son, David…" They dance through the strained introductions and come out the other side intact, although Kurt isn't entirely sure whether he was supposed to shake Paul Karofsky's hand after having met him twice before, albeit in less formal circumstances. He'd done it anyway.

Mrs. Karofsky takes the brownies, smiling, and says, "Why don't we all sit down? There are some mini quiches to start, and the steak will be right along."

Kurt stays very close to Finn in order to avoid meeting Dave's eyes, which he is suddenly and irrationally afraid will lead to him giggling inappropriately. He ends up sitting between Finn and his father, who is eyeing Dave narrowly. Kurt jumps when a hand touches his under the tablecloth, but it's only Finn, who squeezes his hand briefly before nodding in compensatingly manly way and going back to looking uncomfortable and kind of angry.

_This isn't going to work._ Kurt changes his mind about everything he told Dave. His father is sitting at a table with Dave Karofsky and this isn't going to work. He's going to know, he'll see something, some insignificant sign and he'll put it together.

Or… or he won't. And Sunday will come.

"Salad, Kurt?" Dave, across the table from him, is offering the bowl with a firmly resentful expression. He's holding it in one hand, and pressing on the back of his neck with the other. Another tension headache, Kurt thinks.

He smiles icily and takes the bowl. "Yes, thank you," he says, a little bit poisonously. Well, fine. So it may not work. But he's not going to be the one who breaks.

"Finn, Kurt," Mrs. Karofsky says hastily, "David tells us you both sing in the school glee club?"

"Yeah," Finn says, looking from his mom to Kurt. "Kurt's really good."

"Finn is our lead male," Kurt says, smiling at him. "Of course, he also can't dance to save his life."

"Shut up, I almost won us regionals last year with my sweet moves," Finn jabs back.

"That's incredible," Mr. Karofsky comments. "It takes a lot of courage to get up on a stage. You know, David used to sing a little. He has a nice voice. And he had a few years of piano. Maybe you should think about glee club, Dave."

"Dad," Dave says, red-faced and miserable.

"Well, glee club always needs guys," Finn says. "And Mr. Schue lets anyone who auditions at least try the club out. We'd be glad to have you." Kurt reevaluates his opinion of Finn's skill at deception; either he's so desperate for more football/glee crossover that he means it, or he just made the single most baby-faced attempt at making Dave Karofsky squirm that Kurt has ever witnessed.

"Right," Dave says, glowering now. "Well, I have football and hockey, so."

"I'm the quarterback. And I have basketball," Finn says, still smiling brightly.

Dave shrugs.

"My. Lead singer and quarterback?" Mrs. Karofsky sails back in bearing the steak. "You must be very busy. I don't know how kids do it these days."

"Well, Kurt has glee and Cheerios," Finn says. "And Rachel's in every club," and then he stops. Kurt gropes for his hand and squeezes back.

"Maybe I should just do this," Dave says to his plate.

"Yes, maybe you should," Mrs. Karofsky agrees, and Kurt blinks; she sounds brittle and just this side of angry. He would assume it was at him and his family, but she's looking at Dave.

"I can't wait to hear this," Burt acknowledges, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.

Dave stands up, abrupt and fumbling. After a few false starts, he manages to meet Kurt's eyes. "Kurt," he says. He coughs. "I know I can't make up for anything I did or said to you, but I want to apologize to you because you deserve at least that much. I feel really bad for bullying you and I'm sorry. I want you to know I never would have hurt you, but I'm sorry for threatening you. It was wrong and cruel. I don't expect you ever to forgive me but you should know that I'm sorry." He looks back down at his plate. "Nothing I say here is going to help," he mutters. "Whatever. I can't make it up to you. I'm just sorry and that doesn't help." He slumps back into his chair.

Kurt could really relish this if it were real. Well, less not-real. It's obvious that Dave hasn't had a real change of heart, but he is being forced to apologize to a kid he bullied for nearly three years. If that was all there was to this, Kurt would have eaten it up, even at the expense of his outfits for the next two months. Unfortunately, he is in on the entire thing with Dave, and being his accomplice sort of ruins this half of Kurt's grade-school fantasy (the rest of which was about how, after apologizing, his bullies would watch in awe as Marc Jacobs and Alexander McQueen showed up in a limo and whisked Kurt away to become a famous fashion designer and Broadway star).

He smiles politely, and a little disdainfully, and says, "Well, at least you realize that it doesn't help. Still, it's nice to hear."

Dave glowers.

Mrs. Karofsky looks at Burt and says, "If there's anything David can do to make up some part of the suffering he's caused Kurt, he'll be happy to do it."

"Helen, Paul…" Burt fastens a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "You seem like real nice people and I'm sorry we're in this situation. But we are, and the most I want from David here is that he stay away from my kid. I think we should enjoy the nice meal you've made here and be grateful that David's seen the error of his ways, and then we should put this behind us."

"You're right," Mr. Karofsky says, touching his wife's arm. "We're grateful you agreed to come. Let's just… eat."

It almost goes off without a hitch. Kurt refuses to look in Dave's direction. He makes light conversation with Mrs. Karofsky. Carole and Mr. Karofsky get talking about some legal case the he prosecuted and she knew about for some reason. His dad watches everyone with narrow eyes. Finn mostly stays on edge, but manages to hold a few short, tense conversations with Dave, who doesn't mention being sorry for anything he's done to Finn. The food is wonderful, and Kurt thinks Dave really must get his cooking abilities from his mom, and then can't breathe because last week he'd been one room over in this house, under Karofsky and he couldn't speak –

But that goes off without a hitch too. He leans closer to his dad, who puts an arm around him and looks at him questioningly. He shakes his head and keeps talking to Mrs. Karofsky. His dad lets it go. Nothing that he was afraid would happen does. Just… something else does.

When they're putting their coats back on, Dave reaches unthinking for Kurt's, to help him with it, and then snatches his hand back and stands there looking angry, too close to Kurt. The problem starts there, because Burt steps between them. "I meant what I said before," he says. "Stay away from my son."

"Yeah," Dave says, flexing his jaw and looking at his shoes. "I know. I wouldn't have hurt him, but yeah, I get it, okay."

"Sure. I'm betting you think I don't have any idea what it's like trying to fit in in high school. Look, kid, I get you. Hell, I was you. And I'm telling you, it means jack shit that you didn't mean it, or you wouldn't have done it, or it wasn't that bad, or whatever you tell yourself to sleep at night. In the real world, the one outside your head? It doesn't care what you meant. So I wish you the best if you can get your act together, but you do it away from Kurt."

Kurt is pretty sure he's lost the power of speech. He's clutching his dad's arm, but that doesn't stop him.

And that isn't even the problem, really. Dave nods and takes it, though he looks pissed and embarrassed and sad. The problem is that while this was happening, Mrs. Karofsky and Carole were talking over in a corner.

* * *

Carole is stiff and silent in the car on the way back, and as soon as they get home she tells Burt that she needs to talk to him privately.

He nods. "I'll be right there, I just want to tell Kurt something."

"Okay." She goes upstairs. Finn pats Kurt's back and retreats, presumably to his room.

Burt puts a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Kiddo, I'm going to say this one time: the next time that kid looks at you funny, you _tell me._"

"I will. I don't think he'll be a problem now, but I'll tell you."

Burt looks disappointed. "Yeah? You know, Kurt, you grabbed my arm pretty hard."

"Sorry, I –"

"You don't got to apologize. I'm just saying. If you really thought he wasn't going to be a problem, I don't think you would have been that scared."

* * *

Kurt spends most of Sunday morning on the phone with Blaine, but when twelve o'clock comes he needs to get some homework done and he starts to feel guilty, as if it's… worse talking to Blaine on Sunday, like if it's only Dave on Sundays and only Blaine the rest of the time it won't count. This is ridiculous, but he does have to finish his essay.

Then he has to say goodbye to his dad and Carole, who are having their third Serious Discussion since yesterday, and head over to Karofsky's house, cursing Finn for being out at some normal, friendly gathering, and not grounded, and generally normal.

When he rings the doorbell, Dave steps outside. He's carrying a picnic basket this time, and a backpack. "Hey," he says.

"Hi." Kurt automatically tilts his head back for a kiss, and Dave obliges, a second too late and it's not, as things have been going, much of a kiss – closed mouth, no tongue. Thrown, Kurt studies him a moment. "Are you mad about what my dad said?"

"No," Dave says, locking the door and putting the basket down. "I mean, that whole thing was hell, but he was right, I guess." He smiles halfheartedly. "I just can't. Stay away from you, I mean." He puts a hand on Kurt's cheek, stroking his face with his thumb.

"Well," Kurt says. "That's okay. He doesn't know the whole story. He doesn't really know what you're dealing with."

"You're the only one who does," Dave agrees, and pulls him close. He doesn't kiss him, though, just holds him for a second.

"About that," Kurt says into his shoulder. He returns the embrace and continues, "Have you thought about anyone you could tell? Even… a help line or something?"

"I've been thinking," Dave says, but then lets him go and picks up the basket. "We should get going, though. Come on."

"We're driving somewhere?"

"Yeah, you said you wanted to get to know about my hobbies and shit."

"Yes. Well, lead on. Teach me Dave Karofsky."

It's not the most relaxing drive Kurt's ever been on. He spends it pressed up against Karofsky's side, because he'd been kind of tugged there and doesn't want to move away, but they don't talk and Karofsky doesn't really touch him, which would be great except he's still worried that he's mad or something, and also they're heading into a weird, isolated, wooded area that he's never been to, and it's a little creepy.

Kurt is still waiting for civilization to reappear when Dave pulls into what appears, to Kurt, to be a muddy little rut on the side of the road and cuts the engine.

"Where are we?" Kurt clamps a hand on Karofsky's knee, as if that will change anything – maybe if they're out here for his prolonged and ritualistic murder with the tools in the backpack, his clutching at the boy's knee will magically change his mind and he'll decide that brutal killing is overrated, why not try cocoa instead –

"You never been out here? Huh." Dave smiles at him and kisses his cheek. "Come on, I'll show you."

This is more encouraging than not, and Kurt follows him out the driver's side door. Dave retrieves his knapsack and starts walking. Into the woods.

"Oh my God, Dave, what are you doing? I am not playing a rollicking round of _The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon_ with you, I will tell you that right now."

"What?" Dave turns back to look at him. "The girl who loved what? Is this some kind of sex thing?"

"No, I – it's a book – I don't want to get lost in the woods! It's pitch black and freezing, we'll die of exposure by the second day!"

Dave laughs and comes back for him, grabbing his hand and tugging him along. "Okay, these woods aren't big enough to get lost in for more than thirty minutes, and we're on a trail. Here," he digs in his pocket, "you hold the flashlight."

It's one of the kind his dad likes, huge and metal and startlingly bright. It's sort of like a club, Kurt tells himself, with the added bonus of having a blinding mechanism at one end. He's fine. This is going to be fun. At least he's not going to die, that'll be fun. Life is always better than the alternative, anyway.

They're barely walking for a minute before the wood opens up on a pond.

"See? This place is tiny. If you go to the other side of the pond and into the woods a little, you can see the farmhouse on the other side." Dave dusts the snow off a log and pats it. "Sit down, I want to see if these work better with or without newspaper," he says, and starts digging in his backpack.

"Work… what works?" Kurt sits down obediently, aiming the flashlight at the bag. The pond is big and very pretty in the moonlight, sparkling silver-grey.

"These." Dave produces a pair of ice skates. "They're some of my old ones. I think they'll fit you, but we can put newspaper in the toe, too."

Kurt laughs. "Oh! Oh God, wait, is it safe?"

"Yeah, me and the guys practice out here all the time. It's shallow as hell, and it freezes solid." He sits down and puts Kurt left foot in his lap, starting on the laces of his boots.

"You're going to get soaking wet," Kurt protests. "I can do it."

"I'm going to get soaking wet either way." Dave grins up at him, sweet and boyish again. Kurt's pulse is almost back to normal.

"So we're going skating, is the idea?"

"Uh-huh." Dave tugs his boot off and produces the skate, a beat-up hockey-playing thing. "Push, they're hard to get on."

Kurt braces himself and obliges. "Ooh, should they be this tight?"

"They're supposed to be tight, yeah. No newspaper, then?"

"I have really big feet for my frame. Surprise."

Dave snorts. Kurt glares, and he doesn't actually say it. "Okay, here, you get the other one. I'm going to put mine on."

"Is this a good time to mention that I really don't skate well? I mean," Kurt struggles with his boot, "I can theoretically do it, but I tend to fall flat on my face a lot."

"I'll help you."

* * *

He does end up doing a lot of helping. Dave doesn't mind, because mostly that means staying close to Kurt and either holding his hand or grabbing him around the waist frequently. That works for him.

"I was thinking I'd try to teach you some basics of hockey at some point," he says when they break for hot cocoa from the thermos in his backpack, "like at a real rink. Just skills stuff, messing around, not enough to bore your eyes shut," he adds when Kurt's nose wrinkles. "But, you know. This is me. And you don't seem to hate it," he adds hopefully. It's probably partially the cold, but Kurt's cheeks are red and his eyes are sparkling and he laughed a lot on the ice. And he's smiling.

"No, I love it," Kurt confesses. "I feel stupid because I suck at it, but I do like it. It's like Finn; he loves math, he just can't _do _it."

Fucking Hudson, Dave thinks again.

"Let's go again," he says, capping the thermos and sticking it back in his bag. "You know you're supposed to push out with your blades, right? Stop trying to slide them forward."

"I know," Kurt groans, clinging to his arm for balance – he wobbles so much Dave's kind of afraid they're going to twist his ankle just getting to the pond. "I mean, I know in my head. But I'm trying to go forward. It just doesn't make sense to push sideways."

"You just need to get a feel for it." Dave steadies him on the ice and stands behind him, hands on Kurt's hips. "Here, don't… do anything. I'm going to go, try to follow along." He pulls Kurt closer so he can balance both of them, and kicks his legs apart enough to get his feet inside Kurt's.

"I'm going to make us fall," Kurt says, grabbing his arms.

"I have really good balance."

"I swear to God if you break my nose…"

Dave starts skating slowly, holding Kurt tightly enough that if he does stumble, not much weight is depending on him. It really would suck if he went down on top of Kurt. He'd crush him. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But Kurt, even if he can't do it on his own, does pick up quickly on the concept of pushing sideways when all he has to do is let Dave's feet shove his around, and he doesn't trip Dave up, so they manage all right for a few minutes. "Okay, try now," he says, and backs off.

Kurt is successful, at first, and laughs giddily when he makes it twice around the pond once without falling. Eventually he tries to push forward again, and Dave catches him before he falls over. "You're thinking too much," he points out. "I can see you do it."

"I know," Kurt says, still flushed and beaming with temporary success. "I know it's easier when I just… do it, but eventually I have to start thinking about what I'm doing. And then… tragedy."

"Yeah, Romeo and Juliet got nothing on you," Dave laughs. "Come on, let's get some food and head back. You're shivering."

Kurt moans. "If I sit down to take these off I'll freeze. Motion is the only thing keeping me alive right now."

"Okay, Juliet, keep skating. I'll be right back."

Kurt mutters something about girl names and teeters away. Dave changes back into his boots and gathers Kurt's, then goes back to the ice. "Let's go." He holds an arm out.

"I'll ruin your skates. And I'll fall." Kurt doesn't so much stop in front of him as he slams into him. "Sorry."

"You won't do either. Hang on." He hitches Kurt up in one arm.

Kurt squeaks and wraps his arms around Dave's neck. "Watch your hands," he warns, and locks his legs around Dave's waist as well, blades clicking. "If I stab you, know in advance that I'm sorry but blame you because, really, who picks up a spaz with knife blades attaches to his feet?"

"Fair turnabout," Dave says as they start into the woods. "This time if we fall, instead of your nose that breaks, it'll be my carotid artery."

"Are you sure you're okay for this?"

"Hummel, you weigh as much as my sister on a diet, chill."

"You're very strong." He sounds a lot more nervous than he does impressed, but Dave will take what he can get.

Even light things get heavy on a walk in the woods, but Dave doesn't put Kurt down until he has the car door opened with his free hand and he can set him inside. He stifles his grunt of relief, too; maybe strong makes Kurt nervous, maybe it's not even what he's into, but it's kind of all Dave's got.

He hands Kurt his boots and gets the picnic basket before climbing in and turning the car on, cranking the heat while he's at it. "It'll take a second for it to warm up," he apologizes.

"Yeah," Kurt agrees, teeth chattering. He's left his boots untied.

"I brought tea in another thermos," Dave says, digging it out of the basket. "And tuna salad. By which I mean actual lettuce with tuna on it, not… tuna and mayo, I figured you wouldn't eat that." He leaves that in and hands the tea over.

"Thank you." Kurt unscrews the lid clumsily and starts drinking. "My hands are _so cold._"

"I forgot you're not as used to it," Dave apologizes. "That and your gloves are real pretty, but I bet they do jack to keep the cold out."

"Beauty is pain."

Dave laughs and undoes his coat. "Here." He drapes it over Kurt's shoulders and pulls him closer. "I'll trade you hand-warming."

"Hm?"

"You know…" He puts Kurt on his lap again, facing him, and tugs at his waist until he can worm his way under the five layers of shirts and coats the boy's got on and get his hands against Kurt's back. Kurt gasps and jolts against him, which is not helping with the effect getting his hands on Kurt's skin is having on him. He really didn't mean it like that, and wonders if he shouldn't stop, but it'd just look stupid now to change his mind.

"That is _freezing_," Kurt whimpers. "Oh my God. I haven't done this to someone since I was like eleven, give me a break."

"It's cruel, but it's effective," Dave says.

"You deserve this," Kurt says, and sticks his hands down the back of Dave's collar. It's so cold it hurts, but Kurt's hands are smaller than his, so it's not impressive as revenge goes.

"I think I win this round," Dave says.

"Probably." Kurt shrugs stiffly. "Hands," he adds, almost stern, but there's something nastily plaintive about his tone, too, like he thinks he's asking for something he won't get. Dave realizes he's roving a little, and stops. He pulls his hands out from under the shirts, regretfully, and settles them under the coats.

"Hey, so," he says.

"Yes?" Kurt pulls his hands out, too, and tucks them into his sleeves. He doesn't get off Dave's lap, at least.

"I'm sorry."

"What about?"

"You know. Everything. The stuff I did to you." _Last weekend._ Dave can't figure out how to apologize for that. Sometimes it sounds awful in his head, but trying to figure out how to say it out loud – I'm sorry I made out with my boyfriend. It doesn't _work._

"Thank you," Kurt says softly. "That… is nice to hear." He puts a hand on Dave's shoulder. "I, um, speaking of that stuff… it's part of why I really want you to talk to someone. It's not… it's not healthy to be so afraid of your sexuality that you start threatening people, and I –"

"Okay," Dave says. "Look, I promise. If it means that much to you, I'll tell someone. You just… you have to give me time to figure out who, okay? I don't know many people who are okay with this kind of thing." Not like Kurt. Kurt with his dad and his stepmom and his stepbrother and his… Blaine. Tiny, pretty Blaine. "Can I ask you something personal?" he blurts, and then wishes he could take it back.

"Of course." Kurt looks at him attentively.

"Is Blaine – is that your type?"

Kurt shifts back a little, tensing. "I don't think…"

"I'm not trying to bug you about him. I said I'd let it go, and I meant it. I just wondered. Because I'm… I don't look like that. I could diet," he adds in a rush, and hates himself for how pathetic it sounds but he would, he totally will if Kurt wants him to –

"Dave," Kurt says. "No, I don't – no, Blaine's not… my type. I like athletes, I like – you're very attractive."

"Even though you don't dig on chubby guys." He overheard Puckerman whining at Fabray once about how she needed to lose weight because he didn't dig on fat chicks. He'd thought it was hilarious at the time. He's since changed his mind.

"Oh, God," Kurt says. "You know I was trying to hurt you when I said that, and simultaneously put as far from your mind as possible any remote chance that I might be trying to peek when you change or something like that. I am not always one hundred percent truthful when I'm trying to win an argument."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, I wasn't. Peeking. We are clear on that? I never thought of you that way. But it wasn't anything to do with how you look." Kurt sighs. "This is what I mean, though, I can't be all you have. Do you have any idea how frightening it is to hear someone offer to diet _for you_?"

Dave shrugs, pissed at himself for feeding Kurt's weird little idea. So he wants to look nice to Kurt, that's not bad. It's not a big deal. "Sorry."

Kurt slumps forward, leaning his head against Dave's shoulder. "I don't want you to be sorry," he says. "I want… I don't know."

"I do," Dave says, and lifts Kurt's chin to kiss him. Because he does know this, at least, that he wants this, and he can have it. He tugs Kurt closer, leaving the kissing up to him as he slides his hands back under the three shirts to get at Kurt's skin. It's smooth and soft and he feels like he's holding all of Kurt somehow, like he can touch him everywhere by having his hands around Kurt's ribcage. He can feel Kurt's heart pounding against his sides.

He pulls Kurt forward, deliberately, so that he can get some relief for his aching erection. Just the weight of him there, slight but solid, makes Dave whimper into Kurt's mouth. He usually likes that he's bigger than Kurt, finds it reassuring on some gut level, but lately he's been feeling… big, and awkward, and strange. Not like Blaine, he imagines. Blaine is smaller than Kurt, even. Shorter, at least. And trim and – cute. Cute the way Kurt is.

But it's Dave Kurt's _with_.

He moves his hands to Kurt's hips and grinds him down, mindless, against himself. "It is me," he gasps against Kurt's ear. "It's not Blaine, you like me enough – I don't gross you out –"

"Dave," Kurt says. That's not really an agreement, but he kisses Dave's cheek and then his neck. His neck, that's a boyfriend thing, you don't just do that. That's the first time Kurt's done something like that, initiated anything other than a kiss on the mouth or cheek, and it's been a month and a half so that's probably not a good sign but it feels like one right now, it shoots down his spine like lightning.

"Say my name again," Dave whispers, pushing against Kurt's ass, vaguely irritated by the two pairs of jeans in the way. "Please."

"Dave." Kurt moves, maybe he tries to sit up straight, but Dave's rhythm throws him back. "Dave can we please –"

Dave bites back a groan as he comes, a flood of intense pleasure and sheer relief, and doesn't hear what Kurt says. He gasps, trembling and sweaty. _Chubby boys who sweat too much._"I'm sorry," he says, and tries to help Kurt move back.

"No," Kurt says. "Wait. Can you –" He keeps his face beside Dave's, where he can't really see it. "Can you hold me for a minute."

"Sure. Sure. Yeah." He wraps his arms around him and tucks Kurt's head onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry, that was too fast, you said you wanted to go slow."

"Yeah." Kurt's breath ghosts across his neck, sending gooseflesh down his back. "Please, please ask me first, okay? I just want you to ask." He's shaking a little.

"Christ." Dave rubs his back. "I will. I promise. I wouldn't have done that, I just – wanted to know you wanted me…" It sounds pathetic. "That you weren't… that I was your type. Enough. And you're so – hot, and I didn't think."

Kurt curls closer to him, wrapping his arms around Dave's shoulders. He says something, too muffled to hear.

"What?"

"Can I ask you to stop? If you – don't think again. Are you going to get mad at me if I ask you to stop?" He sniffs. "It's not that I don't think you're hot, I do, I'm just not used to this. I don't want you to get angry."

Dave nods. "I won't do that again. But yeah, I mean, I won't get mad. Of course you can ask me to stop. Christ, Kurt."

"Okay. Thank you." Kurt stays there for a while longer, with Dave holding him, and Dave figures it can't have been that bad then, he surprised him again and that was a dick move but he's still a _comfort_… Kurt's shaken up some, he's a total virgin, but it's okay.

"You want to eat?" he asks when Kurt is finally sliding off him.

"Yes, please," Kurt says, and unpacks as Dave puts the truck in gear and starts them toward home. He reaches over to give Dave bites of the salad intermittently, since he's driving. They're sharing a fork. Dave feels like an asshole; this is way better even than getting off. And Kurt picks at the salad without really eat any himself, but he volunteered the feeding thing. They're cool.

And Dave will take what he can get.


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry this is late! Last Sunday the site was giving me trouble. This is the last chapter I had written up, so I'm afraid the updates are going to get a lot more sporadic from here on. :/ Thank you for commenting, everyone! Keep it up, it makes me happy and reminds me to keep working on this crazy thing!

* * *

Monday is good. Kurt likes Monday. It proves to be the last day of the week he likes, but it is a nice one. He barely sees Karofsky in school, which is just easier. Mr. Schuester seems happy and is hanging out with Coach Beiste a lot, which is probably good for everyone involved if it means he's not mooning over Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell or staging elaborate theater productions to get into her pants. Coach Sylvester is on a rampage, but Coach Sylvester is always on a rampage; the fire is a bit much, but he doesn't have to juggle it, so he forebears.

Over dinner, Carole nudges his ankle under the table with her toe and says, "Burt, I think Kurt has something he'd like to tell you."

This has the potential to turn Monday into one of the worst days of his life so far, especially since Carole hadn't told him they were doing this at dinner and he is unprepared. Fortunately, it doesn't. "Oh," he says, trying not to sound like his bow tie just tightened around his neck like a noose. "Yeah, Dad. I was wondering if I could have Blaine over for dinner Friday night."

"Yeah, sure, kiddo." Burt frowns over a forkful of mashed potatoes. "That's not something you had to tell me, though. More like a question."

"No." Kurt coughs and looks at Finn, who is shoveling a hamburger into his mouth at an alarming speed and doesn't seem interested in helping out at all. Not that he could, since he doesn't know what's going on. Still, a little fraternal solidarity would have been nice. "I actually wanted to tell you that Blaine is, just recently, I mean we haven't been hiding it, but Blaine is my boyfriend."

Carole beams at him and reaches over the table to squeeze his arm. "Isn't that great, honey? Blaine's such a sweetheart."

Burt shakes his head. "God."

"Is that – is that okay?"

"Don't think I ain't happy for you," Burt says. "It's great you found somebody. I just didn't really think I'd have to come up with rules for you dating." He glances over at Carole, then pats Kurt's arm. "I'm going to have to get to know him before I'm one hundred percent okay with this, but… that's great, buddy."

Finn shakes his head. "Wait, the midget from our competition, that Blaine? You're dating him now?"

"Rachel likes him!"

"Rachel liked Jesse, too."

"Blaine is not going to sabotage us. Anyway, even if he tried, breaking up with me right before regionals would hardly have the same kind of backbone-breaking effect on the group Jesse's breakup with Rachel did. Rachel's our star," he points out, with minimal resentment.

"Yeah, but you got a solo at sectionals. Maybe –"

"Oh, Finn, really? Come on. You know how ridiculous what Jesse did was. What are the odds of that happening again?"

"I guess," Finn allows, and punches his arm. "Tell him I'll totally beat him up if he tries it, though. That or have Mr. Schue do one of those funk things like we did to Jesse. He'll be wasted."

"Thank you, Finn, that's very sweet. I'll be sure to tell my boyfriend that my stepbrother has threatened him with our show choir director choreographing a dance at him. Right at the top of my to-do list."

"Cool." Finn goes back to his hamburger.

Burt looks back and forth between them. "Who's this Jesse kid?"

"Rachel's psychotic ex boyfriend," Kurt says. "He got together with her just to break up with her before regionals, so that we'd be crippled by a star who could barely go on living without him or something. Mr. Schuester put the fear of funk into him and Vocal Adrenaline, though, so it was fine. I mean, we still came in last, but not because of Rachel's broken heart."

"Yeah, it totally wasn't," Finn says. "We got together right before we started singing." He looks momentarily pained.

"This boy got Rachel to be his girlfriend," Burt clarifies, "so he could try to make you guys lose a show choir competition?"

"He even transferred to McKinley," Finn says.

"But that's not what's happening with me and Blaine," Kurt adds, kicking Finn's ankle. "He has more reason to be worried than I do; he's the lead vocalist for the Warblers. New Directions would get way more out of me breaking his heart than the Warblers would get out of him breaking mine. Not to mention Blaine would never _do_ that. I don't mean to sound completely naïve here, but really, you _could_ tell Jesse would pull something like that. He was ruthless and suspicious from day one."

Burt shakes his head.

"High school is a lot more cutthroat than when I went," Carole mutters, looking at Finn with a truly strange expression Kurt doesn't bother trying to figure out.

"Dad, please tell me you know that's not what's happening with Blaine."

Burt takes Carole's hand. "I don't like hearing that it's a possibility," he says. "But you've got good instincts, Kurt. If this kid is your boyfriend, I'll believe he deserves it." He smiles. "Until he proves me wrong, anyway."

* * *

The problems start Tuesday. As soon as he gets to school, Mr. Schuester waves him into his office, relieving Finn of Kurt-watching duty. Kurt hopes he can get at least to second period without Becky, whom he loves but really, this bodyguard thing is humiliating enough without making it one even he could carry under one arm.

Coach Beiste is already in Mr. Schue's office, and Kurt is suddenly worried she's going to want him on the football team again, since apparently having Kurt on a team is suddenly all the rage again – maybe they're plotting something to get back at Mrs. Sylvester using him, oh God – and Mr. Schue pats his shoulder, unaware. "Have a seat, Kurt," he says.

Kurt perches on the chair next to Coach Beiste, and Schue settles on the edge of his desk. "Coach Beiste and I have been discussing some problems we have with our respective kids," he says, "and we came up with an idea we wanted to run by you."

Kurt looks between them, hugging his bag to his chest. "I'm not joining the football team again."

"…Okay, not actually our plan."

"Or helping you topple Coach Sylvester from her position of power."

Mr. Schue laughs. "Okay, not that either. Relax, Kurt."

"What else would you need to run the plan by me for?"

"Well, it's not actually about you, but it might make you uncomfortable, and if you'd rather we didn't, the whole thing is off," Schue says, with the cheerfully manic gleam he gets when he'd really rather not be put off his plan.

Beiste nods. "Whole thing's up to you, kid."

"We thought," Schue says, "the last time the football team won a game, at least before Coach Beiste got here, was when you were on the team – but more importantly, it was when you taught the boys your 'Put a Ring on It' number. That was when they really pulled together as a team."

Kurt is slightly put off by being forced to remember this – sophomore year, Finn his knight in shining armor, Puck the worst bully he had – but says, "So you – oh my God, you want me to teach them another dance?"

"We were thinkin' a little bigger than that," Beiste says.

Mr. Schue leans forward. "We want the entire football team to join glee club."

Kurt laughs. "They won't. There's no way."

"Oh, they will if I tell 'em to," Beiste says.

"I realize this will be hard for you guys," Schue adds, "but it would make life a lot easier for everyone if the football team, including the guys in glee, could get along. And if they would come together, the other guys would have to stop bothering you strictly-glee kids, too. This won't be easy, but it's important that we try, so it's not up for discussion – except from you."

"Why do I get veto power," Kurt starts to say, and remembers that Karofsky's on the football team.

"You'd be safe," Schue hastens to add. "You'd probably be safer than not, that way – I'd always be there, and so would Shannon, and we could keep our eyes on both of you in a way we can't otherwise. But we'd understand if you don't feel like you can do this."

"It's up to you, kid," Beiste agrees, patting his shoulder the way Schue does, hand heavier and warmer. "What do you say?"

_No_, Kurt thinks, because he can't, absolutely cannot get through a day here if Karofsky is going to be in glee. Glee, home, Blaine – he's supposed to be able to relax there. His biggest concern should be wrestling a solo from Rachel's cold, dead hands, or keeping Finn from putting his shoes in the oven, or convincing Blaine to eat the bigger half of the cookie they're splitting. He does not want to worry about staying behind Puck, of all people, because there's someone even bigger and meaner who wants to hurt him in the room. That's for the rest of his life. And he really doesn't want to have to figure out how to behave around Dave in school if they're both in glee club.

"Yes," he says. Because if it _does _help, it'll be worth it, for all them, even for Dave.

Mr. Schuester grins hugely. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it'll be a great adventure." He smiles. It's not very convincing, but they don't need to be convinced.

"Fantastic!" Mr. Schue claps his hands together, then gives Beiste a high five.

"Yeah," Kurt says weakly. "Fantastic."

* * *

It's not that he thinks he'll be in danger. Dave isn't going to try anything sexual in a room filled with his teammates, and he isn't too worried about more traditional forms of violence as long as their bargain is in place – he has no doubt Dave will be tempted by the peer pressure, but doesn't really think he'll cave. While he doesn't trust Mr. Schue – who is a good, kind man but stunningly unobservant – to pick up on anything wrong on his own, he does know that he'll come running if Kurt calls. He really does think everything will be fine. He just doesn't want to have to be afraid that it won't be, not during glee.

But that's not a reason. Baseless fear is not a good reason to deny something that could help a lot of people, not least himself. He doesn't think for a second this will make some profound change to the way things are done at McKinley, but a few superficial slips in the status quo could do wonders for Tina, for Mercedes, for Rachel; could make Finn and Sam and Puck's time on the team so much easier; could give Dave some of the confidence he needs to accept himself. And all of those things would be good for Kurt. If people stop harassing the girls, he'll get less too; the less the boys have to put up with, the less likely that they'll resent him. And Dave… if Dave would just get a hold of himself… get some friends who wouldn't hate him for being gay, get a way of expressing himself that doesn't involve pummeling people…

This isn't going to help _much_, but it might not have to.

On Tuesday, it doesn't look like it's going to help at all. Azimio and Strando lead a staunch resistance movement against the glee/jock fusion. Dave sits in the back corner and scowls heavily, and almost says something a few times before looking over at the wall above Kurt's head, and just grunts in agreement with Azimio. Finn, Mercedes, and Rachel leap preemptively to Kurt's defense. Puck ends up taking a swing at Azimio with his guitar, and the whole thing descends into physical violence, with Schue and Beiste almost single-handedly restraining an entire roomful of angry teenagers.

Finn is glued to Kurt's side on the way out, which is probably fortunate since Dave tries to catch his eyes a few too many times as the group heads toward the door. He knows that the boy is probably having a breakdown, but he honestly can't handle it right now. He has more than enough on his own plate.

"We'll talk to Mr. Schue tomorrow," Finn says on the way to the car. "Or we can just tell our parents. There's no way this is going to fly. You can't be in a room with that guy for another hour every day, and I can't either. I just want to punch his face in the whole time."

"Really? He's getting better, I think. He didn't even say anything in there." Kurt shrugs. "I knew it was coming. I don't think it'll be that bad, if only because I'm going to get video of him and Azimio dancing."

Finn pauses. "Wait, you knew? How'd you know, are psychic like Rachel?"

"Finn. Rachel is not psychic and no, I'm not psychic either. I knew because Mr. Schuester ran it by me first, in case I was going to have a fit of the vapors when Karofsky walked into the room. I told him it was alright by me."

"Are you serious?" Finn straight-out stops walking. "Is everyone just keeping me out of the loop on stuff on purpose now? Who else knew?"

Kurt stares, wide-eyed. "No one. God, Finn. This wasn't personal. Mr. Schuester asked me because he didn't want my dad in here yelling at him again, I'm sure. I didn't get a chance to bring it up."

Finn kicks at the pavement. "Today just really sucks," he says.

Kurt softens; Puck and Rachel had just sung a pointed duet, and even if it was blatantly about Finn, he can imagine it didn't do Finn's feelings any favors. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm not exactly overjoyed about this arrangement either. Let's just try to give it a chance, okay? I mean, it's not like things can get worse."

Finn frowns. "Uh, yeah, they could go back to slushies and name-calling full time. Karofsky was already on my case this morning."

"Still, we have to give it a chance, right? Either way. And maybe it will help a little." Kurt's brain catches up with his mouth. "Wait, what? What do you mean he was on you? But he – he's been so much better –"

"Well, yeah, I guess, but he and Strando are the reason they're in there. They got all pissy this morning at practice and then Puck tried to start a fight."

"What do you mean, all pissy, though? He didn't actually say anything to _you_, did he?"

"Like that would be new?" Finn shrugs. "I guess not, though. It was just sort of general glee club hate." He starts walking again.

"Oh," Kurt says, at least halfway relieved.

"Hey, give me a ride home?"

"I thought you were going somewhere with Puck."

"Yeah, I'll text him." Finn looks over his shoulder and holds an arm out behind Kurt, not quite touching him but herding him toward the car. "I changed my mind."

Kurt looks back too. Dave is glowering at them from across the lot. Yeah, definitely upset. Kurt swallows and tries to make a circumspect call-me gesture, but his choices are basically to either telegraph their relationship across the parking lot or make it impossible for Dave to see, and he's pretty sure Dave does not see.

He climbs in and starts the car, then reaches over to squeeze Finn's shoulder. "Hey, thank you," he says. "I mean, we've established that I am appropriately annoyed by needing protection, right? But I am grateful."

Finn puffs up, transparently desperate for reassurance after all of his competing with Sam, and grins. "No problem. It's just the kind of guy I am."

Kurt manages not to laugh. "Well, it's very cool of you."

* * *

Tuesday is looking up as he gets home. Finn is happy with him and he's going to get to call Blaine and invite him over for Friday night dinner with his family, which is just about the most important boyfriend-thing ever; he's looking forward to years and years of Friday night dinners with Blaine, many of them in New York City, after their July wedding… Tomorrow is going to suck, he thinks, but this evening will be fine.

He doesn't get to call Blaine, though, because before he can finish his homework their parents get home. He hears Carole and Finn talking in the hall but doesn't pay any attention until Finn comes into his room. "Hey, they want us in the living room," he says.

"What did you do now, and why do I have to be there for it?"

"I don't know, dude, maybe I'm supposed to be a cautionary tale. I swear I haven't even done anything lately though."

He hasn't, as it turns out.

Once their parents have them sitting on the couch, they take the chairs and settle in for what is obviously not going to be a pleasant conversation. Kurt catches himself inching closer to Finn and stops.

"It seems like you boys haven't been honest with us," Burt says. He sounds tired, so so tired. Kurt's stomach seizes up.

"Finn," Carole says, "did you ever bully Kurt?"

This is so much not what Kurt's expecting, so completely not the point and in the past and not a problem anymore, that he actually has to stifle a disdainful scoff. He turns it into a weird little cough at the last second and looks at Finn; he thinks maybe he should just lie and get Finn out of this, but Finn's face is so transparent it would give Kurt away.

Sure enough, Finn's shoulders are hunched and he couldn't have looked guiltier or more deer-in-the-headlights if they'd caught him with a pee balloon in hand. It's answer enough.

Burt swears. "Kurt, why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't a big deal," Kurt says. He ostentatiously puts a hand on Finn's knee in a show of support, because he wants more than anything to go back to his dad _not _being mad at him but he doesn't know how to get there, and it's going to be a lot easier to get Finn on his side than it is to convince Burt and Carole of something that's not, from their perspective, true. "You guys, I know how weird this has to sound to you, but nothing Finn did was ever that bad. He stopped some of the worse stuff, actually."

"Finn," Carole says. "Honey, you've got to tell us exactly what you did."

"I didn't," Finn mumbles. "Like, I didn't… do stuff. Usually. I mostly, uh, I watched – but I didn't _do_ anything. Am I going to get thrown out again?"

"No one's getting thrown out," Carole says wearily. "But we have a big problem here, boys. And you're going to have to do a lot better than that, Finn."

"May I say something after Finn has confessed to his crimes?"

"Yes, but we've got to get there first."

"Uh," Finn says. "Mostly I was there for dumpster tosses. I didn't help, but I was there." He doesn't mention the name-calling or the locker slams or the pee balloons. Kurt doesn't either, despite a sudden, vicious little impulse for revenge. He almost does, but looks at Finn's scared-sick little-boy expression and remembers why they need to make this go away; they're a family.

Carole shakes her head. "I thought you threw a drink in his face," she says. "What is a dumpster toss?"

"He didn't," Kurt says. "Finn's never slushied me." This is true, at least technically. Kurt did it for him. "A dumpster toss is pretty much what it sounds like. They'd throw me in a dumpster. And Finn never did that, either. He was just there when other people did it. Now may I please say something?"

"Seems to me like you just did," Burt says.

Kurt doesn't let this stop him. "You guys really don't understand what it's like at McKinley. Every single student there stands by and lets things like this happen, because they happen all the time, and it's never worth getting involved. The problem is way too big. Finn practically took a stand by not actively participating last year, and what he's done for me this year is a way bigger deal than you can possibly get. You don't understand how _weird_ it is for anyone to stand up to anyone else there."

Finn takes a breath, and Kurt clamps his fingers into his knee to shut him up. He's either going to disagree and make things worse, or agree and make things _way_ worse, because it's one thing for someone else to defend your assholish behavior, but when you do it yourself it just looks sad.

"I get that high school is hard," Carole says, eyes steely. "But you still made some really bad choices if you ended up standing around while a kid was thrown in the trash, Finn – and then never told anyone about it?"

"Mom," Finn says.

"Finn's jacket," Kurt says desperately. "And the slushies. Azimio and Karofsky tore Finn's letterman's jacket in half when he was off the football team for a few weeks. And he and Quinn have gotten mass slushied by like… six jocks at a time or something. It's not fair to hold someone to an abstract moral imperative when they're going to get punished for it like that." He considers, very briefly, bringing up what he did to Rachel to get the attention off Finn, but can't – he doesn't have any kind of peer pressure excuse for his actions and his dad would be furious and so disappointed. "I'm just saying, bullying is a huge problem at McKinley. Everybody does it or suffers from it, or usually both, and it's not fair to expect Finn to be like… some superhuman force beyond the reach of his peers. He stopped, that's more than most of those pathetic wastes of space will ever manage to do."

Burt sighs heavily. "Okay. Sure, let's say that. And you didn't think maybe you ought to tell us about this before we moved in together? Neither of you thought we deserved a chance to work this out before we asked you to live together?"

Kurt sags back against the couch. "I don't…"

"Mostly we didn't think you'd ever find out," Finn says. "We didn't want to freak you out." He makes it sound like a joint decision, rather than the unspoken, thoughtless idea almost every person at McKinley shares, that it's not worth telling, and now that their parents know Kurt's having a hard time explaining that. He doesn't say anything to clear up Finn's word choice; he likes the idea of them having come together in a purposeful attempt to shield their parents from the horrors of McKinley. Even though it didn't happen. It would have been sweet.

"I haven't done anything to Kurt in like… years," Finn says. "Or anybody else. Am I going to get, like, punished?"

Carole, who had plainly been thrown by Kurt's superior logic, is unfortunately refocused by this. "I don't know, Finn," she says. "I'm having trouble thinking of _how_ to punish you for watching a friend get physically attacked on a daily basis. Grounding seems a little too clichéd, don't you think?"

Kurt's just glad they've kept Puck's name out of it. He's tired of defending people who think hurting him is a recreational activity, even if they've changed their minds recently.

"I tried to help," Finn says, ignoring it when Kurt's fingers make a concerted attempt to punch through his skin. "I mean, I held your jacket that one time."

And now they know how close he was, and how involved, and god damnit. Kurt loses all concern for Finn's concept of personal boundaries and slumps over, burying his face in his shoulder. "I can't do this," he says. "You are criminally idiotic." His mouth is full of Finn's shirt, so hopefully Finn didn't pick up on that last part.

"Go to your rooms," Carole says. "Burt and I are going to have to talk about this. And we're going to be having some very serious discussions about honesty."

Kurt stands up with what dignity he can muster, straightening his hair. "Well, for the record," he says, "I'm the injured party here, and I know Finn feels awful about what he did, and I have forgiven him for it. Not to be self-involved, but this _is_ all about me, and _I_ want us to go back to normal. Which we can't do if you guys are mad at Finn for something that happened over a year ago." He marches out, Finn trailing behind him like a kicked puppy.

"Thanks for helping out in there, dude," Finn says miserably once they're up the stairs.

"I just want things to go back to normal."

"I really am sorry, you know? Puck and I could totally sing a song to you about it if you want."

"Thank you, Finn, that's great, but let's wait until next time you actually screw up for another ballad sung my way, okay?"

"Okay, sure. Hey, um – how do you think they found out, though?"

"Well, don't look at _me_," Kurt hisses, defensive. "I didn't ask for this mess! Anyway, use your head; they wouldn't have called me down solemnly for the big reveal if I were the one who had told them."

"Oh, right." He smiles. "Yeah." He disappears into his room. Kurt goes to his own and collapses on his bed, ready to sleep for about three years. Unfortunately he checks his phone first, hoping for a little something from Blaine. There may well be something from Blaine, but the twelve missed calls from Dave distract him. Groaning, he closes his door and tries to pull himself together enough to be supportive to yet another bully. If he weren't violently opposed to religion, and weren't doing pretty much all of this out of a hope that it would make his own life easier, he would nominate himself for sainthood.

Dave picks up just before it goes to voicemail. "I need to see you," he says. "I know this is stupid, I know it's like – insulting – I get that I'm flipping out over having to sing and dance a little. I need to see you."

"Okay," Kurt says. "It's okay, Dave, everyone on the team is doing this, no one's going to know. Where do you want to meet?"

* * *

They go to the pond where they'd skated last week; it's already almost thawed. There's still snow on the ground in the shade, but mostly there's mud and soggy dead leaves.

Kurt picks his way into the clearing like a cat, tiptoeing, face set in a rictus of distaste. He's wearing that bright yellow coat. Dave smiles and feels like he can breathe again, is back on their weird little slice of contentment and safety. Knowing what's going to happen tomorrow still presses on his chest, but it's lighter as long as Kurt's there.

He goes over and lifts Kurt up, places him on the log they'd sat on before so that his boots are out of the mud – you'd think mud is what boots are for, but Kurt's do look all soft and pretty and judging by his face, this is not what they're supposed to be in contact with. Dave wonders if Kurt has considered that even New York City has slush on the sidewalks. Maybe he's thinking more in terms of L.A. They both have colleges, he thinks irrelevantly. Not just design colleges or theater colleges, places where he could do sports. He doesn't think he'd like a big city, but… they do. Have colleges he could go to. If he keeps his grades up. If he can hold on until he gets out of here.

Kurt's a good four inches taller than he is, standing on the dead wood, and he puts his hands on Dave's shoulders to balance even though he doesn't need to because Dave doesn't let go of his waist. "Have you calmed down any?"

Dave shrugs. "Right now, yeah, whatever. You're here. It's tomorrow I'm worried about. This is the championship game, everyone's already on edge, and now they have to throw this in on top of everything? The fuck is _wrong_ with Schuester anyway?" His chest tightens and he steps away, because this is just – too much on top of everything else, on top of how close he was to being fine; he feels hot and sweat prickles on his forehead. He mostly likes to hit people when he feels like this.

Kurt shifts his weight gracefully, getting his balance back. "He believes in things," he says. "I think the song 'Imagine' is grafted into his DNA. He thinks if he can just get everyone to sing together, everything will turn out alright, and his entire existence will be validated by a bunch of high school students." He smiles affectionately. "Give him a chance. He's endlessly irritating, but… he's there for you when you ask for it."

"Yeah, what I need is for people to see me getting along with the director of our show choir."

"Never mind, then," Kurt says, a little snippily. "Okay, tell me what exactly the problem is so that you can calm back down."

"My _problem _is that I can't do this, I cannot be in a room with you and my teammates at the same time for hours, practicing dances and shit! Not for the rest of the week. I'm going to screw this up so bad."

"Why? Dave, think about this. There's going to be a thick layer of glee jocks between us at all times. You won't even have to look at me. None of your teammates are going to try anything with Beiste right there."

Blaine, Dave thinks, would not have to avoid looking at Kurt. He wouldn't need people in between them. He wouldn't suck at singing and dancing, either, or be ashamed about liking either one, and Berry wouldn't have called him –

"I'm not a homophobe," he says abruptly.

Kurt frowns. "What?"

"Like Berry said. I'm not, I mean, I'm… like you."

Kurt looks amused. "Dave, you do realize gay guys can be homophobic? And you pretty definitely qualify. I'm not talking about not wanting to come out," he adds quickly when Dave starts to protest. "That's different, and it's completely your right. I'm talking about the fact that you used to pick on me because I'm gay, and call me Ladyface, that kind of thing. I understand why you did it, but that doesn't make it not homophobic. You have a lot of internalized homophobia, for the record. Which is one of the reasons I'm worried about you."

"About that," Dave says. He hadn't wanted to do this yet, but maybe – maybe not at school, but at Kurt's house – "I was thinking. About someone else I could tell." He's nervous now, more than angry, and he goes back over to Kurt.

"Really? That's fantastic! Did you come up with anyone? This is great, David, this will make things so much better if you have other people to rely on besides me –"

"I was kind of thinking about your dad," Dave says. He plays with a shiny yellow button on Kurt's chest, slipping his fingers under the edge of the lapel. "I mean, he's the only one I know who'd get it. And I thought – if he knew that, maybe we could tell him about us, because once he understood why I did the shit I did before, maybe he'd…"

Kurt's shaking his head, eyes wide. "Oh my God," he says. "Dave, no. It kills me to shoot down your first idea, and I am – very happy you're putting thought into this." He takes the side of Dave's collar in his hand, gloved fingers brushing his neck and cheek. "Really, thank you. But we can't tell my dad about you, and we _definitely_ can't tell my dad about our arrangement, because believe me, he is the last person in the world who would understand."

Dave's stomach sinks again. "Why not? He's fine with you being gay, that makes him the only parent in town with any cred in that area."

"Yeah, he's fine with me, mostly. But that's _me_. That's his job. If you told him anything that meant we'd been spending time together, he wouldn't be thinking in terms of gay rights or the struggles of gay teens everywhere. He'd be thinking in terms of grounding me for the next decade and forbidding me to see you ever again. There is no way I could possibly make him think that it's okay for me to be alone with a guy who threatened my life. I'm sorry, but he just doesn't see things that way. Anyway, he's got a lot to handle already, and I have to think about his heart."

Dave can feel his tiny, phantom chance at widening his slice of peace and calm shattering. Fucking Hummel. He hates Burt Hummel, too. "Would you?" he asks. "If your dad told you not to see me."

Kurt's hand shifts on his neck. He strokes Dave's cheek with his thumb. "My dad hasn't outright forbidden me something in… years," he says. "He guilts and bargains and makes formal requests, but he pretty much lets me do what I want if I stick to it. But if he tells me straight out that I can't do something? I won't do it."

Dave really hates Burt Hummel.

"But the important thing," Kurt continues, "is that you are thinking about it! And my dad does make sense in a lot of ways, so that's a good first step. Hopefully you'll think of someone else by Sunday?"

Dave shrugs. "If I make it that far."

"Oh, relax. I promise to stay completely out of your way. I know it'll be a tough week, but maybe you'll enjoy some of the singing and dancing. Your teammates will be suffering right along with you, that's what bonding's all about. This isn't some plot to out you, Dave. No one's looking. No one suspects you. You're going to be fine."

"Easy for you to say."

"Oh, yes, it's been a joy ride," Kurt sniffs. "You've spent the last three years, at least, building a reputation as a homophobic, straight jock. Use it to your advantage for once. Just… rest on your laurels. Trust the rest of your high school career to get you through the next four days."

"I guess."

"Trust me, everyone is going to be worried about what they're doing themselves. No one is going to care about anything but surviving this week."

"Yeah," he allows. Everyone else is going to have to sing and dance too. He just has to hesitate for as long as everyone else and make exasperated faces like everyone else. And stay away from Hummel. Unless it comes down to it – if someone else tries something on Hummel right in front of him – what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn't even do anything, and if he did do something it would all be over as hell, his entire –

"Dave." Kurt pats his cheek. "Stay with me, buddy."

"Yeah, right. It'll be fine. You're gonna stay away from us?"

"I'll be glued to Mercedes' side. She wouldn't have it any other way. You're being paranoid. Which is understandable, but still baseless. Nothing is going to happen."

"Don't jinx it."

Kurt laughs. "I won't say anything more about it, if you're going to go all backwater superstitious on me." He braces himself on Dave's shoulder and steps off the log, wincing as he comes back into contact with the mud. "Now let's go. I still have homework to get done, and I'm not sure how long I'm allowed to be out right now. Our parents are mad again."

* * *

Dinner is tense and silent. The only upside to any of this is that Finn, feeling guilty and seeking approval, sticks to Kurt like he's on a leash, and while Kurt doesn't especially enjoy his new full-time job of grooming everyone else's egos – his own takes up enough of his attention – he does like having Finn as a distraction from everything else. And it makes the whole being-brothers thing a lot easier when it's Finn who suddenly feels compelled to do all the work.

Kurt is on his bed texting Blaine and finishing an essay, and Finn has taken over his vanity to actually do some homework, or at least write down the answers Kurt calls over to him.

Kurt's phone buzzes. _Should I wear a tux or something?_

_No, dork. Why would you wear a tux? Just dress… nicely. my dad doesn't even own a gun, calm down._

_That was very comforting, thank you._

_Everyone will love you, I promise._"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you really have a problem with Blaine and I dating? You seemed fine with it before."

"Oh." Finn shrugs. "No? I'm sorry about before, dude. I was out of line. I guess the more I think about Rachel the more I think about, you know – Puck and Jesse… but Blaine seems like a nice guy. I just have to relax about stuff."

"Good. Start getting massages or something, then, because if you scare him away on Friday and kill my only chance at getting a decent boyfriend I will murder you."

Finn looks over at him. "Wow. Weird, he's seriously your only option for a boyfriend."

Kurt groans. "Your powers of observation, Finn, they just – constantly amaze me. And if you keep trying to scare my dad off Blaine, I'll start giving you the wrong answers on your homework."

"It's cool, dude. I've totally got your back from now on. I'll even cover for you guys if you want to go make out or something, it'll be awesome."

"That's so touching. Not very practical, since you suck at subterfuge, but still, I appreciate it."

"No problem, bro."

* * *

Dave hates Wednesday almost as much as he hates Hudson. Coach Sylvester has gone crazy, he guesses, and there's something about a cannon, and her not being allowed to kill Brittany with the cannon, and the only important part is that now not only do they have to sing and dance, but they have to do it in front of everyone at their own championship game. Plus the Cheerios have some kind of glee vs. cheerleading decision to make, but Kurt didn't even really want back on them in the first place, so Dave figures it's not a big deal for him.

He keeps it together for the dance – mostly, he does shove a few guys when they get in his space – and tries not to watch Kurt, he really does. It's not his fault Kurt's wearing that cheerleading uniform and doing zombie moves that look almost as sexy as they do weird, or breaking character to giggle with Mercedes or Brittany. Eventually watching other people and trying to keep himself on count takes care of that, and then he's just… it's just nice. He has fun, and Kurt's right over there, it's almost like they're normal boyfriends, in the same club, having a good time.

As long as no one figures out that he's having a good time, because that…

But the other dudes are having as much trouble as he is picking up the steps, more even, so it's mostly fine, until Mr. Schuester holds him back after the first part of rehearsal. Dave is convinced Schuester caught him staring at Kurt and is wondering if there's a way to get out of this without getting kicked off the football team for homophobic slurs, which would probably make their way back to Kurt and hurt his feelings, and then Mr. Schue says it's because he's _good._

"If you took that energy you use bullying people, and put it into this? You'd be one of the most talented guys at this school. Just think about it," Schuester says, and Dave's world spins on its axis when Schuester pats him on the shoulder, too, like – like he hasn't spent the last two years making life miserable for all of his favorite students, like forgiveness is that easy. Because, Dave realizes suddenly, they _want_ him. Of _course_ they want him. Hudson and Evans can wrestle over who gets top dog all they want, but the fact is, he, Dave Karofsky, is way closer than either of them. They could use him, everyone who's important to Kurt in the school would benefit from being around Dave.

They do makeup, and the goth chick helps him with his even though he pushed her into the lockers that once – or twice, or whatever. Most of the guys get help from someone in glee. Kurt stays near Mercedes and doesn't try to help anyone, and Dave watches him in the reflection in his mirror. Kurt should be sitting next to him, helping him as easily as Brittany does Azimio, smiling and casual.

He really does hate Hudson.

He goes over and asks anyway, just loud enough that Kurt can hear. "You think – maybe we should do a warm-up number or something before we do that big 'Thriller' thing at halftime?" And it's easy. It really is that easy. They want him. And Hudson is so – open, it actually hurts, like his chest hurts from how simple it would be to just be friends with this guy, and then how simple would it be to date his step-brother.

Kurt smiles at him in the mirror when he sits back down to work on his makeup some more – just for a half second, but it's there.

He's on the right track. He knows he is. So Kurt's dad is out; that doesn't change the principle of the thing. All of the people who would be okay with this, with him, are _Kurt's _people. And getting closer to any of Kurt's people can only be good, as long as he handles it right. Boyfriends should get along with their partner's friends and family; he's just stepping up to the plate some. Not with Hudson, really, because Hudson is kind of stupid even if he does seem like he'd make a good friend. But someone.

This is perfect, this whole thing. He starts to relax for real, because as long as the whole football team is in on this, what can go wrong? He can smooth things over with all of Kurt's friends a little and not get in any kind of trouble for it. This is genius. The "She's Not There" thing is completely awesome and he kind of loves being made up like a zombie, and the applause and Schuester's approval, and Beiste's – it's fantastic. Kurt kind of jumps up and down applauding the way he did for _Peter Pan_, it's awesome. Everyone's as into it as he is. There's nothing to give him away. And if all of the most popular boys in school are in glee, then –

Except the rest of the hockey team. He'd know, he did exactly this last year. Spotted a weakness, the top dog doing girly shit, and stepped in with a slushie to rearrange the world order. And he is not going to be rearranged on. Almost definitely. Almost entirely definitely. He would have stormed out of the showers to find some eye drops or something – Jesus, that shit stings – except Hudson sounds a little bit like Kurt when says, "Relax, it's gonna be fine." And he already knows that when he puts his back into it, he can swing the entire team around from picking on Kurt and come out on top, so… why not this? Why shouldn't this work too?

"Yeah," he says. "Of course it is. Cuz we're getting them back."

* * *

This hasn't ever happened at McKinley before, two groups with almost-equal claims to primacy duking it out. Hudson and Fabray were pretty popular last year, but they were two people, and actual, certified losers can't fight back – or they can, but it's just pathetic and it doesn't even matter if they win, because the school will just pretend they didn't. But the whole football team, against the whole hockey team (except Dave, who promptly quits, because it kills him but no way can he pull this off if he's still on that team too) – nothing like that's ever happened.

His eggs are all in one basket now, that's for sure. But they can swing this, as long as the team sticks together.

It does, at least through the return slushying. He has friends on the hockey team, or he did, but friendship is worth kind of squat up here at the top – look at Santana and Fabray. This is going to start a war. He just – he thinks they can win it. They ambush the whole team – with blueberry, which Evans says is the worst – and take them down.

He has U. S. History with Kurt and hardly any other jocks except Hudson, who sits in the back and naps a lot. He chooses a seat next to Kurt's and passes him a note halfway through class, as carefully as he can. _Did Finn tell you we slushyd back the hockey team?_

Kurt stares at the note for a second, then turns it over and scribbles something on the back. He nudges it to the edge of his desk more than he passes it back, which leaves it up to Dave to get it back without anyone noticing.

_He didn't have to. The whole school is talking about it; you're turning into a real trendsetter._ A few seconds later, this is followed by another note, this on a page torn from Kurt's notebook. It has some algebraic equations in the corner and a flower doodled in the margin, which makes it almost impossible not to reach over and kiss him. This one says, _It seems like you and Finn are kind of getting along?_

_I thought you'd like that. If we fought less._ He starts to slide it over, then retracts it and adds, _Mr. Schuester is pretty cool too, I guess._

Kurt smiles – at the desk, not actually at him – when he reads it, and makes a little thumbs-up, also not precisely in his direction.

"Mr. Karofsky," says Miss Gunderson. "Eyes on your own notes, please."

* * *

Kurt runs to the bathroom after class and throws up, which is stupid. It's good that Dave is getting along with Finn and Mr. Schue, it really and absolutely is. Those are exactly the kinds of influences he needs in his life, and perverse as it is, Finn being friendlier with Dave would be good for Finn, too, in terms of not getting slushied. This is exactly what he's wanted all along, to get Dave to a place where he can afford to be honest with himself. It's just – they're passing notes? That's something that they do?

This isn't only Sundays now, not by any stretch of the imagination; this is getting way beyond his control. He wanted people Dave could be open with, yes, but not _Kurt's _people. He didn't want to have to watch his step-brother pal around with a boy who threatened his life and wonder what it would mean for Finn if he got up the courage to break things off with Dave.

He spends a lot of time with Sam and Puck, who are less anxious to forgive and forget (and seriously, Finn's so _eager_, so sickeningly naïve, that Kurt would be wounded if he weren't so worried; it's like watching a kid run smiling after a van that promises free candy). He's back off the Cheerios, since glee always was his first and foremost. He suspects that this is temporary – eventually Mrs. Sylvester will remember that she has blackmail material over his head – but at the moment she's so obsessed with fire and her cannon that she seems content to let him go, as long as she still has Quinn, Santana, and Brittany. Becky is off Kurt Duty, apparently, as Coach Sylvester does "not lightly brook betrayal, Porcelain, and don't you forget it."

The rest of the week… happens. He's a little muzzy for most of it. Their parents are having a lot of tense conversations and stopping when either of the boys come into the room; Finn is going so far out of his way to be an ideal brother while ignoring the fact that he's too friendly with Karofsky (ha! At least he's not sucking the guy's face) that he's starting to turn into an emotional contortionist. Kurt plans for dinner Friday night with a focus he can only call manic, because that is endgame, that is where everything will be fine. The game will be over, they'll have a late dinner, and Blaine is spending the night – in Finn's room, Burt clarifies several times a day, and Finn will be taking the couch. There will be no bed-hopping.

Blaine comes to the game with Burt and Carole, of course. Kurt knows Friday is going to stop sucking as soon as this game is over, but right now it really does. There was no possible way to ask Blaine not to come, but now… He thinks he might start hyperventilating. He hopes Dave doesn't see Blaine in the stands, that Blaine doesn't notice how weird it is that Kurt never goes over to see him but spends all of his time with the girls, getting ready for their number. He's just – not going to draw attention to where Blaine is standing, that's all.

Since most of the football team still hates him, he leaves the choir room before they get in to change for the halftime show, heading for a random restroom. This is theoretically a good idea, except that in reality Dave must have seen him going, because he follows him in a few seconds later.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey yourself." Kurt aims for breezy.

"I like your outfit." This is probably not true; Kurt is wearing what used to be a nice white tuxedo and is now artfully torn and dirtied to resemble something a walking corpse might wear after clawing its way out of a coffin. If it had been shot in the back before dying, to account for the blood. He is also almost completely made up to look like someone tried to hack his head in half, so all in all, he feels fabulous but not exactly attractive.

"Thank you," he says anyway. Dave is starting to look nervous with all the tension, and Kurt caves. "Do you want me to do your makeup?"

"Yeah," Dave says eagerly, stepping forward.

Kurt digs out a few tubes of face paint and a hand towel. "Rinse your face off first."

"Blaine's here," Dave says into his hands as he splashes water on his face.

Kurt's stomach knots up. "Yeah, he's having dinner with us later." He wants to finish that with something else, maybe the truth, maybe at least a decent lie ("he's important to me, but just as a friend"), but doesn't.

Dave towels his face off. "Huh."

"Come here." Kurt steps in and starts swiping the green over Dave's jaw. "You're mostly those nasty cracks like Finn has on his right cheek, aren't you? Only bigger?"

"I guess. That's what I had last time." Dave's breath smells like peppermint. And he smells, overall, like sweat, but he's winning a football game; Kurt supposes that's permissible under the circumstances. It's just that the two combined – this is what it smelled like in the car, last Sunday.

"Hang on," he says, stepping back. His hands are shaking. "I, um, need a second."

"Sure." Dave doesn't ask why. Kurt doesn't know whether to hope that it's because he doesn't need to – because he already knows – or to hope that he's just being polite.

The door opens then, too quickly, and Kurt jumps, dropping the makeup. Finn is in the doorway, staring at them, all green skin and overhanging brows. "Hey," he says, not quite worried yet. "What's…"

Dave shrugs, scowling. "I was trying to make nice with Hummel."

"I was just doing Dave's makeup for him," Kurt agrees, bending over to pick the tube up and brandish it as proof.

"Oh." Finn blinks at them. "Well, that's… cool. Tina can probably help you, though, Karofsky. She's done with Mike."

"Whatever." Dave claps him on the shoulder on the way past, and hesitates in the exit. He must not be able to come up with an excuse; when Finn stares at him some more he lets the door swing shut.

"What was that?" Finn says, tone wavering dangerously close to distress.

"Nothing. Like he said, he was trying to make nice. I think he wants to impress you." Kurt turns to the mirror and sets about finishing his own makeup.

"You looked kind of upset."

"He's an upsetting person, Finn. I appreciate that he's trying to change, but that doesn't make me one hundred percent okay with him."

Finn doesn't take the hint in Kurt's tone, and steps closer. "I've kind of been hanging out with him lately," he says.

"I did notice that."

"Yeah, I… I just… I realized I didn't know where either one of you was, and I got kind of freaked out." Finn is watching him in the mirror. Kurt studiously applies more seeping pus to the painted gash across his cheek and avoids his gaze. "I guess I shouldn't be friends with someone if I have to flip out over them being near my step-brother."

Kurt heaves a sigh and stops painting. "Finn, I – oh God. You know your being friends with Dave is good for you, and the glee club, and probably the whole school if you can both keep your heads. And I'm fine with it. He really is trying, I genuinely believe that. Just… don't bring him home. I really would be pissed, and Dad would kill you. I just don't want to have to deal with him all day, every day."

"I get that," Finn says. He reaches over and punches Kurt's shoulder lightly. "I do." His face twists up under the makeup. "Wait, since when do you call him Dave?"

"Finn," Kurt says, "do you think Brittany will be okay?"

"Uh, what?"

"With this cannon stunt? Even if she comes out alright, which is sort of doubtful since Coach Sylvester can't read the manual, it's going to be pretty awful for her."

"Yeah," Finn allows. "And for Santana and Quinn, too, since they're going to be, like… watching…"

"Yes, they are."

Finn nods and squares his shoulders. "I'm going to get them back," he says.

"Good luck!" Kurt calls after him.

* * *

They win the game. They kill the halftime show and they win the game and everything is perfect. Blaine hopefully doesn't notice that Kurt puts an arm through his but keeps his face steadfastly averted in case of potential kissing mishaps, acutely aware of Dave's eyes on him.

They get home late, naturally, and Carole takes Blaine's coat with a smile before saying, "Kurt, sweetie, would you come help me set the table?"

"Oh – yes, um, Blaine…"

"Don't worry, I can keep Blaine company," Burt says.

"Oh my God, tell me this isn't happening," Kurt protests as Carole steers him firmly into the kitchen.

"Don't worry, he just wants to get to know him without you hovering," Carole says. "Helping him answer questions…"

"Oh, please, I've already coached him plenty. I just wanted to see."

Blaine appears, once they have the table set, to have weathered Burt's interrogation without breaking down and crying. He brushes Kurt's hand under the table when they sit down and smiles, still smooth and confident. "I don't think I congratulated you yet," he says to Finn as Burt starts ladling out the heart-healthy, almost-vegan chili Kurt insisted on. "On winning. It was a great game. And," he grins at Kurt, "an amazing halftime show."

"Yeah, we did pretty well," Finn says as casually as possible in his puffed-up state. Kurt is afraid he might float away on pure pride. "We're kind of like rock stars right now."

"Oh, how sweet. You and Blaine both." Kurt smirks at him. "You'll have to start a boy band, at this rate."

"That would be amazing, if our respective taskmasters would allow it," Blaine laughs. "I don't think Rachel would be very happy if you collaborated with the enemy, and I," he turns to include Burt and Carole in the explanation, "couldn't cheat on Wes. The Warblers have a student council in charge, some upperclassmen, and they all take their role very seriously, but especially Wes. He's one of my best friends, and he's very intense about glee. Kind of like Rachel."

"You got a lot of friends over at Dalton?" Burt doesn't exactly look at him when he speaks, and Kurt resists an urge to kick Finn under the table for prejudicing his dad against Blaine.

"Well… yes, I do." Blaine sounds faintly surprised. "I guess I hadn't thought about it in numerical terms, but yeah."

"Huh. What kind of grades you get?"

"Dad, please."

"I have a 4.10," Blaine says easily.

"Dad," Kurt tries again. "How would you like it if I went over to Blaine's for dinner, and his parents acted like I was on trial?"

Burt grunts into his soup.

"Blaine, how do you like being in the Warblers?" Carole asks.

"Very much." He smiles at Kurt. "It's a fun group."

"That, and they give him eighty percent of the solos," Kurt points out, grinning back.

"I think Wes just doesn't want me to feel bad about how short I look when I'm standing next to the other guys instead of prancing around the stage on the lead."

"Sounds like a real nice place," Burt notes.

Blaine hesitates, but says, "Yeah, it is. Except during flu season; the academics are pretty intense and so are all the extracurricular activities, so people get pretty whacky when their performance suffers. Wes and David have a pretty serious fight at least once a year about whether warm milk with honey is good for the throat or not."

"Ooh." Kurt perks up. "Which one of them is on my side?"

"David."

Carole shakes her head. "You know, having to digest dairy makes it harder to go to sleep, not easier, sweetie."

"It's psychological," Kurt insists. "Mind over matter. And it is so delicious."

"But the enzymes," Blaine says, staring at Carole like he's found a soul mate.

"Oh, God, someone stop them."

"They're very hard for your digestive system to break down," Carole says. "Oh, Kurt, I'm going to like this one."

"Finn," Kurt says desperately, "how about that, um, pass you made, that thing, with the ball…?"

"Yeah!" Finn puffs up some more. "I mean, it was down to me and Puck, and I knew I had to make a decision as quarterback…"

"It was an impressive call," Blaine says, sipping his water. "Really good leadership. A lot of guys would have tried to make the goal themselves and screwed it up; it was decent of you to give someone else a shot."

Finn shrugs. Kurt thinks he may actually be levitating off his chair a few inches. "It was nothing."

"It was a good call," Burt agrees, and Finn, who's been looking like a gassy baby around Burt since Tuesday, beams.

Kurt considers the rest of the conversation a lost cause, but also considers it to be worth the pain.

* * *

"I am… so sorry," Kurt says as soon as he gets Blaine into his room. "I had no idea he was going to act like the punch line in a bad sitcom about baby's first date."

"Nah, I get it. My mom will probably do kind of the same thing when you come over," Blaine says with a grimace. "They just want to feel like they still have some control over our choices, right? Like they can protect us." He shrugs. "I can't begrudge your dad a chance to do that."

"You really think your mom is going to grill me once she sees me?" Kurt spreads his arms and spins before collapsing on the bed. "I am completely nonthreatening. I could walk around with a gun in one hand and people wouldn't take me seriously."

"Not that you're bitter." Blaine sits down next to him.

"Just a little bit." Kurt reaches up and tugs on Blaine's shoulder until he's lying down next to him, their arms pressed together.

"My mom will do wonders for your ego, then. She acts like any boy I bring home is going to cart me off and ravish me, and then probably take naked pictures for the internet."

"You are fun and pocket-sized that way. I can't promise not to cart you off and ravish you. I absolutely will not put any pictures on the internet, though." Kurt rolls onto his side facing Blaine, leaning over him on an elbow. "What did my dad want when he had you alone?"

Blaine flushes. "Mostly to be sure we hadn't had sex? I think? The overall message I came away with was that he really hoped I hadn't touched you anywhere that gets covered by a bathing suit yet."

"Oh my God, he's going to try to give me a sex talk." Kurt crumples onto Blaine's shoulder. "Take my mind off this, it's killing the mood."

Blaine nuzzles his hair, and tingles shoot down his spine. "We could do actual moodful things with our mood."

"Yeah?" He lifts his head slowly, brushing his nose along Blaine's neck on the way up toward kissing the corner of his mouth. "I can't say I would be entirely opposed."

Blaine hums contentedly and runs a hand up Kurt's back to his neck, fingers playing through Kurt's hair as he tugs him in for a proper kiss. "Not entirely opposed, huh?" His lips curve against Kurt's. "You really know how to woo a guy."

"Okay," Kurt allows, fighting to concentrate on repartee despite every single nerve ending in his body apparently having developed the ability to migrate in order to follow Blaine's touch. How embarrassing would it be to come because your boyfriend brushes his thumb against your ear by accident? "I am – actively interested."

"You're getting there."

Kurt gives in to his intense desire to roll over on top of Blaine – actually, he's not feeling too picky about which one of them is on top, he just wants more by way of full body contact – and fists his hands in Blaine's shirt. "I _really want_ you to kiss me again," he says. "_Please_."

"If you put it that way," Blaine says, and does.

Kurt mentally apologizes to Brittany in his head several times over the next quarter of an hour. Making out with Blaine is everything he could possibly have hoped for – it feels _good_ and is fun and he feels so safe and, once his nerves start to die down, _relaxed_. Which, granted, isn't really the first thing that comes to his mind when he imagines a steamy makeout session with his boyfriend, but it works. They end up more fully on the bed, Blaine straddling him, and he could just lie here and kiss Blaine forever and that would be perfect – sure, he's embarrassingly turned on, but it's nice to just indulge that feeling.

There's just – one thing.

_Anywhere a bathing suit would cover._ God, his dad thinks he's a complete virgin. And so does Blaine. His boyfriend has no idea, thinks he'll get to be Kurt's first – everything, and Dave has already – it would just be nice if Blaine _could_ get there first for some things. Only he and Dave have been going kind of fast lately, and he hasn't even been on a non-digital date with Blaine yet.

In retrospect, he has no idea why he wouldn't just let Brittany touch his ass while they were making out. That's not even a huge step. It would just mean they were getting somewhere. Not like – somewhere they have to go right this second, but progress. Brittany would have liked it, if he could have relaxed for two seconds with her he would have liked it. He was definitely going to send her an apology card one of these days. And then bond with her over how stupid he had been, because really, Blaine is being stupid.

He has yet to get his hands past Blaine's upper thighs. Granted, sometimes he forgets to try, because he can feel the muscles shifting under his hands and it's kind of distracting. But he has made at least three attempts to get up to his ass and each time, Blaine has laughed into his mouth or neck or hair and stopped him. The last time he tried it, Blaine said, "Kurt, your dad is right down the hall; try not to make me feel like too much of a perv." Which is a valid point. But still…

"_Oh_," Blaine says abruptly, and leans back. "Okay, time out."

"What? Why?" Kurt, bereft, pushes himself up on his elbows.

"I really have to stop a second." Blaine shifts uncomfortably, but grins. "Sorry, I was heading past the 'sweet making out while my boyfriend's parents are in the next room' stage."

Kurt flops back. "Me too. Let's, together," he says, clinging to Blaine's shirt and inarticulate with desire.

"But they are in the next room," Blaine protests, eyes glazing a little.

The knock on the door is the single worst sound ever in the history of the world, in Kurt's studied opinion. Blaine tumbles off him and onto the floor, and stands there trying to tug his shirt down, flushing bright red. He could look more guilty if he had a scarlet letter on his chest, maybe. "Sit down," Kurt laughs, grabbing his wrist. "Come in," he adds, once Blaine has.

"Uh," Finn says once he's opened the door all of two inches, "Burt says it's time for bed? I guess? So… whatever you guys are doing… which totally isn't my business and wouldn't bother me even if it was… Blaine, I can show you where my room is."

"He sent you for this? Really?" Kurt rolls his eyes. "That's just… low. Okay, Finn, we're fully dressed, for God's sake, open the door."

"…Okay." Finn enters cautiously, and Blaine tries to look innocent. For someone usually so put together, it is a massive failure.

"Never you mind," Kurt snaps, and kisses Blaine's cheek. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Kurt. Goodnight, Finn."

"Love you," Kurt says.

Blaine stops in the doorway and smiles at him. "I love you too."

Finn coughs and turns to go. Kurt throws a pillow at him.

His dad comes in a few minutes later; Kurt is already in bed, too exhausted to do more than a cursory cleansing and moisturizing sweep, and Burt hesitates in the doorway.

"I'm awake," Kurt says softly.

Burt sits on the edge of the bed and pats around until he finds Kurt's shoulder. "Blaine seems real nice," he says.

"He is."

"Dalton sounds nice, too."

"I'm sure. I don't mind. I know we can't afford it."

"No," Burt sighs. "I can't figure how to work that. But there has got to be a school where we don't have to worry about you or Finn getting bullied, and especially one where we don't have to worry about one of you bullying the other. Maybe not an expensive one."

"I don't think there are a whole bunch of zero-tolerance schools floating around in our neighborhood."

"I guess not."

"We'll figure it out, Dad. As a family."

"You bet." Burt sits there another minute before patting him and heaving himself up. "Sleep well, kiddo."

* * *

Dave is starting to wonder how stupid Kurt thinks he is.

* * *

Kurt sits in the driveway for three minutes on Sunday night, taking deep breaths and psyching himself up. Finally, he jogs up to the door and rings the bell. When Dave answers, he steps inside too quickly, almost tripping, but avoiding any kind of kissing. "I have s-something to say."

"Okay…"

"I think we need to – take it easy for tonight. We've been going kind of fast for me, sexually, and I think we're getting ahead of ourselves, in terms of our agreement." His vision is tunneling a little. "Can we – not, tonight?"

"Dude." Dave starts to reach for him, but stops. "Kurt, okay, we won't do anything. You need to breathe or something, you look sick."

"Oh." Kurt starts breathing again, which does help. "Okay, that was easy." It had been easy when he'd asked if they could not make out, too, only then it had ended up happening anyway. He really doesn't think Dave planned that, did it deliberately. Not – entirely. It was probably just the heat of the moment. And that helps. Sure.

"Uh-huh." Dave shrugs. "Go on in the living room, okay? I'll get my stuff."

The plan is to do homework together; they both have plenty of it and could stand to get ahead. Kurt doesn't know whether to be nervous because Dave clearly planned for them to do it in his room or relieved that he's willing to switch locales. Both, really. But Dave gets downstairs shortly with his laptop and books, and they set up on the coffee table with some completely organic, Dave swears they are, enchiladas.

"I hate math," Kurt whimpers a half an hour in. "None of this makes sense."

"Trade," Dave offers. "I can do math. Edit my presentation?"

"…Okay. It's not cheating if you just help, right?"

Dave laughs. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

"The teachers should be glad we're making their job easier. And they do want us to learn together, otherwise what's the point of school?" Kurt hands over his worksheet and steals the laptop. "What am I looking for?"

"Grammar and spelling and shit. It's the one for history, but I'm sure about the facts." He nods to the table, and Kurt looks over at the books on it.

"Oh my _God_. Are those from an encyclopedia?"

"Well, yeah?" Dave looks up from the worksheet. "Those are reliable, right?"

"I – yes, I just didn't know people our age still used them. That's what the internet is for."

Dave shrugs. "I don't know, I like them. They're easier."

"That is adorable." Kurt looks back at the computer screen. "This, on the other hand, is not. You really need to make up your mind about the tense you want to use."

"Babe, it looks like you subtracted three from four and got two. I'd watch the mocking." He frowns at the page. "Kurt, you do know how many sides a triangle _has_, right?"

"Shut up, I really hate math."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Uh-huh…?"

"You know Mr. Schuester said I was kind of good at singing and dancing and stuff?"

Kurt frowns, puzzled. "I didn't know he said that specifically, but okay, what about it?"

"Was I?"

Kurt laughs, and when Dave recoils slightly he stops, horrified. "Dave! God, I wasn't laughing because you were bad! I'm sorry, I'm used to glee club. No one there is insecure about their abilities except maybe Mike, and that's just because he knows he's a better dancer than a singer." He smiles, reaching over to touch Dave's hand. "I think every single one of us have claimed with utmost sincerity the position of best singer in the club at some point. I am, for the record, the actual best." He squeezes Dave's fingers. "I'm not used to people asking for reassurance, it surprised me. But you were fantastic, Schuester was right about that."

"Really?"

"I'm not going to say I didn't get a total kick out of watching you watch everyone else while you memorized the dance," Kurt teases, nudged Dave's foot with his own. "The intense concentration look was pretty funny. But really. Once you had it down, you were – really great." His smile fades. "You looked happy doing it, you know."

"It was okay."

"It was _okay_."

"It was kind of awesome." Dave allows. "Maybe even a rush."

"Coach Beiste would give you an excuse," Kurt says. It almost hurts to say. He doesn't want Dave there. He wants him to do things he likes, to have better friends, a more accepting environment, he wants everything glee club could give him. But he doesn't want Dave there. "She would tell the other guys you have to stay in it for some reason. Mr. Schuester would love to have you. So would Finn."

"Hudson's not so bad either," Dave reflects. He shakes his head. "I can't, though."

"You need friends besides Azimio," Kurt says. "You have to have people who will love you no matter what."

"I guess. But I can't do glee club." He sets the math sheet aside suddenly and stands up, pushing the laptop off Kurt and pulling him up too. "So give me some here, instead."

"What? How –"

"Dance with me." He bends and messes with his laptop, which starts playing Elvis; something low and smooth and sad.

"Like an actual dance, or…"

Dave steps in close, not touching him. "Not really. Just dance with me."

"You mean just –" Kurt puts his right hand on Dave's shoulder.

"Like you were with Hudson that day," Dave says. "Before I messed it up."

"Ah." Kurt sets Dave's right hand on his waist and holds his left. "Pretty much just a waltz. You're in, you know, leading position, so just come forward on your left, opposite me…"

_"Are you lonesome tonight," _inquires Elvis.

Dave seems already to have this kind of dancing down; it's not taking up his attention the way it should. "Like you were with Hudson and Mr. Hummel," he repeats. "Except, you know, I'm not your brother or your dad." He doesn't actually pull Kurt any closer, just… says that and applies a hint of pressure to Kurt's back.

"Um." Kurt adjusts his position. Dave's breath still smells like peppermint. They're too close in height for Kurt to avoid his gaze without being obvious, and it scalds his face. They aren't really touching. Dave's hands feel huge and hot and heavy, but they're the only actual points of contact. An inch or two of space stays between them even when the dance brings them closest together.

Kurt wants to look away, and can't. "Are you okay?" he finally manages.

"Yeah," Dave says hoarsely. "I'm fine." His hand tights on Kurt's waist, thumb playing over his abdomen and ribs.

"You look a little…"

"Can I hold you? Just that."

"Yeah, sure."

Dave tugs him over, flush against himself, and folds his arms around Kurt's back. Kurt sighs and tucks his head onto Dave's shoulder and at least he doesn't have to look into his eyes anymore.

They keep dancing, notionally. Swaying, anyway. _Fate had me playing in love, you as my sweetheart,_ Elvis continues.

"I know who I'm going to tell," Dave whispers into Kurt's hair. "I thought of someone. So you can, you know, you can relax. I won't be so much of a worry."

Kurt tries to pull back to face him again, but Dave holds on tighter and he doesn't risk trying to see if he can get loose. "That's great," he says, settling for hoping that he's audible despite speaking into Dave's neck. "Not that – I don't want you to think you're this huge burden," even though you kind of are, "I just want you to have someone else you can talk to. Who is it?"

Dave shrugs a little. Kurt can feel Dave's pulse pounding in his ear, and his heart against Kurt's chest. "Can I tell you later?"

_Oh, dear._ "Of course."

"Good." He rests his cheek on Kurt's head. "I just want to stay like this."

* * *

Again: Dave is starting to wonder how stupid Kurt thinks he is. They live in a small town, a small _conservative_ town in _Ohio_. They go to a pretty small, conservative school. Dave is friends with Kurt's step-brother, who is kind of stupid. The fact the most openly, flamboyantly gay kid in the county had his boyfriend stay the night will probably be all over the school by Wednesday. Dave doesn't even have to wait until Wednesday; he just had to cruise past the house at one in the morning and see that Blaine's car was still there. He just had to text Finn a few times Saturday and very casually swing the conversation around to Kurt in passing, then back to football again to alleviate suspicion.

Okay, then. If that's the way Kurt wants to play it.

And he really does know who he's going to tell.

On Monday, he gets Jones alone right before chem, which isn't easy because she hates him, but he manages. "Hey," he says. "Can I talk to you for a second? It's important. It's sort of about Kurt."


End file.
